The Gunner and the Grease Monkey
by White Eyebrow
Summary: Roadblock and Cover Girl go on a special assignment, as G.I. Joe is outsourced by the Defense Department. A mystery awaits them in the City of Lights. Sunbow cartoonverse : Episode 1 of my vision of how Season 3 would play out. This one kicks it off!
1. Chapter 1

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Chapter 1

GI JOE Headquarters – 0730 hrs

RoadBlock wandered aimlessly through the common area of GI JOE central command. All he could think about was his orders to report to the Chief Warrant Officer at 0800. He wondered if he would ever walk these halls again after today. In recent months, GI JOE had been operating with a skeleton crew. It has been almost two years since they defeated CobraLa at their ancient Himalayan stronghold, during which time there has been no organized Cobra activity. As a result, there has been a gradual thinning of the ranks. Just last week, Rock n' Roll, Barbecue, and Leatherneck were discharged from the team. His own service contract was up for renewal next month; the timing of this meeting suggested that he was next to be let go. Lost in his musings, he almost bumped into a young intern as he rounded a corner.

"Excuse me sir," said the intern, as he rushed past him.

RoadBlock did not bother to respond. These DoD agents, or "Blacksuits" as Shipwreck referred to them, were assigned to take up the slack for running the day-to-day operations on base. They were competent enough, but something about them rubbed him the wrong way: it felt like allowing total strangers free run of your house. He entered the south corner elevator on his way to the command wing. As the doors started to close, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hold the door please."

Roadblock pressed the "open" button just in time. As the doors stopped, then slowly slid open, CoverGirl entered the elevator. She looked like she had just got out the shower: her hair was damp, as if it was towel-dried, and it hung mussed just past her shoulders. She finished fastening the buttons on her vest when she noticed RoadBlock in the elevator with her.

"Marvs! Long time no see big guy."

"How've you been Courtney?"

"Running late as usual."

"...Floor?"

"Oh, Command please. Thank-you."

"I'm headed there also."

"Oh no. Flint's office?"

"Yep."

"I guess we're both getting canned."

"No more Cobra means no more JOE," he said, as the doors again came to a close.

The elevator jolted as the pulleys and cables raised the conveyance to the upper levels. Only the electric hum of the motor broke the uncomfortable silence. RoadBlock wasn't one to engage in _small-talk_, but it was preferable to the anxiety he felt over meeting with Flint. Moreover, on the rare occasions that he happened to speak to CoverGirl, they were always pleasant to one another.

"So, you're growing your hair out?"

"Yes I am..." she said. After repeatedly combing her hair with her fingers, she sighed loudly before finally clipping it into a ponytail, "...and I see you've shaved your goatee. It makes you look younger."

"Thanks," RoadBlock replied, stroking his bald chin as an afterthought.

"Was it time for a change?"

"Yea. And you?"

"Naw, before I became a JOE I always preferred to wear it longer. I cut it when I joined the unit because Hawk kept confusing me for Scarlett. Since she is on indefinite leave, I figured it was safe to grow it out again."

"I guess it's a moot point now. Are you going back to modeling?"

"Heavens no! After twenty-five, you're considered _over the hill _anyway. Actually, I've been asked to accept a teaching position at Ft. Knox."

"Oh Really?"

"Apparently they're looking for specialists with practical battlefield experience. Colonel Peters wants to publish some of the engine modifications I did to the Wolverines and apply them to the next generation of heavy assault vehicles."

"Damn Girl, you got it goin' on!"

"What about you? Are you going back to the regular Army?"

"No, I'm not going to renew my contract. I've been wanting to open my own bistro, and maybe write a few books on French cuisine. Now that Cobra is _done_, I'm gonna start having some _fun._" At this, he noticed that CoverGirl looked away as she tried to hide a grin, "What is it?"

"You know what I'm going to miss most about being a JOE: your off-the-cuff poetry."

RoadBlock blushed, "My rhymes? Well I have to be in the right mood to make those happen. I find they relieve tension and bolster morale during battle. But for _you,_ I'll try to whip up a _few_."

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slowly creaked open. What lay before them was a long hallway leading to the command offices and mission briefing rooms. What was once a bustling corridor of activity has, over the course of the year, become a sparse dimly lit passageway. They walked the path in silence; the sounds of their footsteps echoed unchallenged. As they passed by the conference room, through the open door they could see MainFrame performing routine diagnostics on the main display terminal. Afterwards, they rounded the corner leading to General Hawk's office. It was locked with the blinds drawn: it looked like no one had been in there for months. To the right, at the end of the adjoining corridor, was a singly lit office. They were close enough to hear voices, but were too far away to discern who was speaking. As they approached, the voices stopped - presumably because their footsteps could be heard halfway down the hall. They stopped outside the office of the GI JOE field commander. Formerly it belonged to Conrad "Duke" Hauser, but now it belonged to Flint. RoadBlock waited for CoverGirl to finish fussing with her hair before knocking on the door.

"Come," Flint bellowed.

RoadBlock and CoverGirl cautiously entered the office. Save for Flint's Ivy League diploma on the wall behind his desk, the office was pretty much the same as Duke left it: Spartan. Flint was sitting at his desk with his arms folded. On a couch on the far wall sat BeachHead and Stalker. They were subordinate to Flint in the chain of command with BeachHead being next in line followed by Stalker. RoadBlock and CoverGirl stood in front of the desk and saluted at attention. Before they could say anything, Flint waived off the formalities.

"At ease. Do you know why you're here?"

"According to the scuttle_butt, _the word is we're being _cut,_" answered RoadBlock. He gave a sly wink to CoverGirl; she winked back in recognition.

"No. You're both being promoted," Flint interjected. "You two are going to be our newest section chiefs. You will all be working together with other section chiefs, but will report singly to Stalker. Hawk will make a formal announcement and outline of your duties when he gets back from Washington. He should be back before you return."

"Return from where sir?" CoverGirl asked.

"From your mission," BeachHead said as he got up from the couch and handed them both sealed envelopes. "It's not a Black OP per se, but it isn't on the books either. You two are going to be point men on a joint international anti-terrorist cooperative between the CIA and the DGSE."

"The DGSE?" CoverGirl remarked. "That's French Intelligence. You mean to say we're going to France?"

"She's got looks _and_ brains," BeachHead said. Although his expression could not be read behind his balaclava, it was obvious from his tone that it was meant as a reprimand for interrupting him.

"Please note that this _cooperative_ is experimental and you are there in an _advisory_ capacity," BeachHead said, as he stood face-to-face with RoadBlock; looking him in the eye. "Translation: no _ma deuce_."

"Understood Sir," CoverGirl said, interrupting him again. "But I'm a little confused as to why the CIA handed this off to us?"

"That's what we've been scratching our heads over," Stalker added. "But it's as simple as this: the DGSE wanted GI JOE, and General Hawk handpicked you two. That's why your promotions were fast-tracked - so you would have the necessary security clearance."

BeachHead continued, "Everything you need to know is outlined in your dossiers. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning."

RoadBlock and CoverGirl saluted and left the office. Once they were out of earshot, BeachHead angrily paced around the office.

"You're going to wear a hole in my carpet Beach"

"Sorry Flint, but you know this whole OP stinks!"

"Agreed, but what do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing, I'm just venting. What do you think Stalker? You've been awfully quiet sittin' over there."

"I think RoadBlock and CoverGirl are going to be pawns in some greasy bureaucrat's wet-dream for political clout. Ever since the oversight committee declared that Cobra was no longer exigent to national security, GI JOE has been chop-shopped and kicked around by the DoD. I also think that if recent intelligence reports are accurate, the cold war will be over in a matter of months. And when that happens, GI JOE's days will be numbered."

"True," Flint said. "Which is why, ever since they put another star on his shoulder, Hawk's been in the trenches at the Pentagon using all his influence trying to justify GI JOE to the big Brass. He believes Cobra has gone underground and is waiting for something as destabilizing as the fall of communism to strike."

"Do you believe that Flint?" BeachHead asked.

"I don't know. On one hand, it's been over twenty months since we've seen any sign of Cobra. Even their front company, Extensive Enterprises, has filed for bankruptcy and auctioned off its assets. But, on the other hand, we've been unable to recover any bodies from Cobra's upper echelon in the ruins of CobraLa. I would have to say I'm on the fence Beach."

"Be that as it may, for the moment we can't do anything about Cobra. So given that this mission is _suspicious_ at best, and given that the DoD has us by the short hairs, it begs the question: what is Hawk thinking sending in RoadBlock and CoverGirl? What makes a gunner and a grease-monkey qualified for something like this?"

Before answering, Flint looked at Stalker to see if he had anything more to add to the discussion. Stalker responded with a shrug. Flint looked back to BeachHead and answered with finality, "After serving all these years under Hawk I've learned that the man has an uncanny ability to pick the right soldier for the right job."

GI JOE Headquarters – 2343 hrs

CoverGirl tossed and turned in her bed trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Her mind was distracted with thoughts of the mission. She had been on special missions before, but none with an objective that was more diplomatic than military. After staring at her wall clock from one fruitless minute to the next, she decided to sneak into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. She threw on an undershirt and her battle fatigues and went to the mess. Once there, she saw RoadBlock at the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious, and Bazooka sitting at the prep table with a dinner napkin tucked into his shirt.

Bazooka greeted her, "Hi CoverGirl."

"Hello Bazooka. Hello Marvs – you couldn't sleep either?"

"Not exactly, I decided to stay up to get adjusted to the time difference."

"And I'm just here for the grub," Bazooka added.

"I'm making T-bones with a side of buttered broccoli and cauliflower. Do you want some Courtney?"

"Yummy!" Bazooka roared.

"No thanks," CoverGirl replied. "I just need something to help me sleep. I'll nuke some hot chocolate."

You will not drink that powdered concoction on my watch. I am going to make you hot cocoa with baker's chocolate and goat's milk - sweetened with honey and cinnamon," RoadBlock declared, as he gathered the ingredients.

"Yummy!" Bazooka roared.

"Er, I didn't realize we kept all that stockpiled in the kitchen," CoverGirl said.

"We don't," RoadBlock replied. "But since the _Culinary Arts_ is my secondary MOS, I've been given a modest discretionary budget that allows me to experiment with different menu items. It's all part of providing my fellow JOE's with a well-balanced diet."

"I see," CoverGirl said, with a smirkish expression on her face.

"So, why can't you sleep?"

"It's the mission..."

"What mission?" Bazooka interrupted.

"We can't tell you the specifics, it's a secret." RoadBlock answered.

CoverGirl continued, "Doesn't it all seem strange to you?"

"Of course."

"So how are we going to pull it off?"

"Hawk believes we have the _skill_, so all we need is the _will_."

"That's not bad."

"Thanks."

RoadBlock took the steaks and veggies off the heat and served a portion to Bazooka.

"Thanks RoadBlock," Bazooka said.

"You're welcome," He proceeded to stir the baker's chocolate into the now warm goat's milk for the cocoa.

"Well this isn't so much about my trust in Hawk as it is my distrust of the suits behind the scene," CoverGirl stated.

"Fair enough. But as JOEs I believe we will nevertheless complete this mission like any other in the true JOE fashion..."

"With tenacity, courage, and perseverance?" CoverGirl shot back.

"No," RoadBlock responded. "We'll slop through it haphazardly and, at the last possible minute, pull it out of the fire before it all hits the fan."

"Oh Marvs that's terrible!" CoverGirl said disapprovingly - all the while trying to hide her amusement.

RoadBlock finished mixing the chocolate and turned to serve it to CoverGirl. As he was pouring her drink, he saw Bazooka reach over and grab a saltshaker. RoadBlock glared at Bazooka intently as he held the saltshaker over his steak.

"Is there something wrong with your food?" RoadBlock said, through clenched teeth.

Bazooka – now cognizant of his faux pas – quickly put down the saltshaker. "Sorry," he repented. "Force of habit."

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Chapter 2

20th arrondissement – 1951 hrs

RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived in Paris with little incident. Their flight was long so they were allowed some time to freshen up at their hotel rooms. When the DGSE agents picked them up from the hotel, they were able to take in some of the sights of the surrounding arrondissement (or district). The view from the passenger's seat was modest but scenic with a number of working-class neighborhoods. The 19th century architecture of the many tightly-packed buildings and narrow streets gave it an old-world charm.

They arrived at DGSE headquarters and were escorted to the 4th floor which was apparently reserved for the counter-terrorism division. The elevator doors opened into a small lobby with a security station. After they were signed in, they were escorted through a set of electronic double-doors into the main office which consisted of twenty desks in the open area manned by agents. There was an office set in each corner of the room that was reserved for command personnel.

"Mademoiselle, monsieur please wait here; the director will be right with you," said the agent, before he walked to one of the corner offices.

"Humph," RoadBlock grunted.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Its certainly functional, but I was expecting something more - impressive."

"Well not everyone has GI JOE's budget."

"These days even GI JOE doesn't have GI JOE's budget," RoadBlock said, as he adjusted his collar. He was visibly uncomfortable.

"For heaven's sake, what is it now?"

"I haven't worn this uniform in years. I don't remember it being so tight."

"I know what you mean," said CoverGirl, as she straightened her skirt around her hips. "I think mine must have shrunk."

"At least yours 'shrunk' in all the right places. Tell me again why we have to wear our Army Greens?"

"BeachHead said it had something to do with protocol and professionalism and – I don't know, I wasn't really listening."

"I guess I can put up with it for now, but this heat isn't helping. Aargh!"

"Stop whining you big baby. I think I see our new CO over there."

The director of the CIA/DGSE task force – Dr. Emile Métier came over to introduce himself. He was a short middle-aged man with thin gray hair and a pencil mustache. He had a good-natured countenance but, despite his mild manner, had an air that commanded respect. Accompanying him was Agent Evrard – the DGSE field team leader for that division. He was a tall man in his early thirties with brown wavy hair and piercing green eyes. When he shook CoverGirl's hand, she appreciated the fact that he looked her in the eyes - not giving her the dreaded "elevator stare" that most men give her on first contact. After introductions were made and a brief tour given, the four of them settled into the briefing room.

"Sergeant CoverGirl and Sergeant RoadBlock --"

"Just 'CoverGirl' and 'RoadBlock' is sufficient Dr. Métier," CoverGirl interjected.

"Very well, CoverGirl and RoadBlock I realize the hour is late and you must be tired from your long flight so if you need to rest --"

"We would like to get started right away sir," said RoadBlock. He looked to CoverGirl for confirmation; she nodded in agreement.

"As you wish. Let's start first with some of the more classified material that is not in your dossiers. This cooperative is actually a continuation of the Worldwide Defense Center project that I and a group of sociologists started several years ago. It was an attempt to collect all the world's information on terrorist activities into one master database. The goal, of course, was to stop terrorism."

"If memory serves," CoverGirl added, "GI JOE ran security for that operation. Is that why you requested a GI JOE presence Dr. Métier?"

"No. Actually I was originally against GI JOE involvement. While I was impressed with your team's anti-terror tactics, it was obvious that you were created specifically to counter the Cobra threat. As a result, you operate from the paradigm that all terrorism is influenced by criminal organizations. I believe that this reasoning is glib and counter-productive. My approach is more proactive in that it addresses the root causes of terrorist activity. Through patient intelligence-gathering and profiling, I believe it is possible to track patterns of behavior before they lead to violence; even going so far as to provide potential offenders a forum to address their grievances without fear of prosecution."

"In other words, we try to catch them while they're young and idealistic," Agent Evrard added. "However, even Freud said, 'sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.' That's why _I_ pushed for you JOEs to get involved: to give Dr. Métier's vision a counter-balance. If you sign off on this, it could give us the legitimacy we need."

"Unfortunately, with Cobra inactive GI JOE's voice doesn't carry the weight back home that it used to," RoadBlock said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Agent Evrard responded. "But maybe we could help each other yet. GI JOE still has considerable repute with the rest of the world. If this cooperative is a success, it could buy you valuable leverage – don't you agree?"

"I'll buy that," RoadBlock answered. "Dr. Métier you said this project was a 'continuation'. May I ask what happened with the work you started at the Worldwide Defense Center?"

"It failed miserably," Dr. Métier said, with disdain.

"Oh? Why is that?" CoverGirl asked.

"It started on too grand a scale. With all the politics involved it degenerated into a – how do you American's say – a 'pissing contest'? I have learned from that mistake, and this time we are starting small and working outward. Member nations who wish to join must apply by charter. As we gain acceptance I expect our membership will grow."

"Dr. Métier, I also get the impression that the support for what you're trying to accomplish here is _shaky_ at best," RoadBlock mused. "I'm curious as to what prompted your government to give you the go ahead with this?"

"As you know, Monsieur RoadBlock, German unification is imminent. No one in the intelligence community knows what to expect - especially given my country's history with Germany. Cold war tactics don't apply anymore, thus I was able to capitalize on my government's hunger for 'unconventional' solutions," Dr. Métier said, while glancing at his watch.

Dr. Métier continued, "I suppose this would be an appropriate segue into our current operation. Our intelligence operatives have been surveilling a radical group of student nationals affiliated with the communist party. They are protesting that unification is a capitalist scheme that will bring about economic collapse in Germany. Up until now their activities have been benign. However, we have evidence that they have been contacted by an Algerian terrorist cell leader. Ideally, I would like to counsel the students before they tread that slippery slope, but our primary goal is to apprehend the Algerian contact."

"Do you have a strike team in place?" RoadBlock queried.

"_Oui_, we have an _action team_ on standby," Agent Evrard said, correcting him. "The operation will take place at midnight. You can sit in if you would like."

"Definitely," CoverGirl said, enthused.

"If there are no more questions," Dr. Métier said – again checking his wristwatch, "Agent Evrard and I must take our leave of you to prepare for tonight's raid. If you need anything, all of the agents here speak English. Adieu."

RoadBlock and CoverGirl were left alone in the conference room. CoverGirl got up to close the door so they could have some privacy.

"So what do you think?" asked CoverGirl.

"I think the doctor's heart is in the right place, but I'm skeptical that this will work. Then again international politics isn't my area of expertise."

"Me neither. I don't know how Hawk deals with this stuff everyday."

"At least I'm starting to get an idea of what Hawk had in mind sending _us_ here."

"You mean 'us' as in _me and you_?"

"No – I'm still in the dark on that one – what I mean is 'us' as in GI JOE. You heard what Evrard said about gaining leverage with the international intelligence community--"

"Yes, but I don't think that this is what Hawk had in mind. It would imply that he's scrambling to get GI JOE busy work."

"How do you figure? Terror is terror. And after all, GI JOE is--"

"_GI JOE_ is the code name for America's daring highly-trained special mission force. Our purpose is to defend human freedom against Cobra: a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world...why are you staring at me like that?"

"I've never heard our mission statement worded that way before, it sounds so – campy."

"Really?" CoverGirl pondered on this point, but casually dismissed it. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is this: if we have indeed succeeded in our mission to stop Cobra, then GI JOE is no longer a justifiable expenditure and _should_ be disbanded...will you stop looking at me like that; it wasn't _that_ bad!"

"I'm sorry," RoadBlock held up his hands in surrender. "Tell you what: after we check in with BeachHead, let's go grab a bite to eat. I know this great place across the Seine."

"Sure, but how do _you_ know about it?"

"I spent some time here in Paris getting my certification from the Escoffier School of Culinary Arts. I've been to every restaurant worth eating at in this city."

"Fine with me, but don't you think Hawk will mind us eating at someplace so Fancy?"

"Hey girl, I didn't come to Paris to eat at McDonald's"

6th arrondissement – 0255 hrs

By early morning, the streets in front of the Chalgrin Inn were quiet and deserted as an unmarked black van drove by - parking inconspicuously across the street. Hours before, four men from the DGSE entered the building and got a room to stake out a meeting between a group of student nationals and a known terrorist cell. However, the supposed time of the meeting had long passed. The room had been quiet all day and there were no signs of activity. Everyone involved in the DGSE action team was starting to get nervous. From inside the black van, the field team leaders: Dr. Métier, Agent Evrard, RoadBlock and CoverGirl were monitoring the operation.

"Agent Evrard, I think it is time to move in. Obviously our intel is flawed," said Dr. Métier.

"I agree," Agent Evrard replied. Putting in his ear piece and turning on the security monitors, he contacted the action team and gave the order to storm the room.

RoadBlock shook CoverGirl awake. Since Midnight, they took turns napping in the backseat of the van, "Wake up CoverGirl, its going down!"

RoadBlock and CoverGirl watched the monitor from the action team's helmet cams. The team stormed and secured the room with efficiency. However, what they could see from the monitors was disturbing: the bodies of five college students dead for several hours.

"Everyone be advised, this is now a crime scene," Agent Evrard relayed solemnly.

Chalgrin Inn – 0713 hrs

It took a relatively short time for the DGSE forensics team to sweep the apartment. During that time, in an apartment down the hall, the team field leaders reviewed the video from the raid to plan their investigation. Once they were allowed to enter, they were instructed to wear latex gloves and shoe covers. As they approached the apartment entrance, RoadBlock and CoverGirl were greeted by the familiar stench of death. Inside they got a closer look at the decaying corpses – it was more visceral to behold in person as opposed to on video. The positions of the bodies had already been outlined and tagged. Forensics agents where still present, however, taking pictures and collecting samples from the scene.

"This one couldn't have been more than eighteen," CoverGirl commented sadly, as she kneeled over one of the bodies.

"That is of age," Agented Evrard said.

"Yea man, but they're still just kids," RoadBlock replied.

"You're right of course," Agent Evrard said soberly. "It looks like they were killed execution style by a single gunman. Notice the position of the first three, they are still lined up and have gunshot wounds in the back of the head. The other two must have realized they had nothing to lose and rushed the gunman. They obviously weren't fast enough; they each took one to the forehead and ended up laying here."

"Do we have a murder weapon?" Dr. Métier asked one of the techs.

"Yes we do," the tech replied handing the gun to Agent Evrard in a hard foam-lined plastic box. "It is a 9mm automatic. We are about to send it to ballistics to match it with the slugs we pulled out of the baseboards."

"This gun is registered," Agent Evrard observed. "Did you trace it?"

"Yes sir," the tech answered. "It is registered to Marius Gaschot. His household reported a burglary break-in last week."

"It makes sense," Agent Evrard added, "It was probably stolen as a throw-away gun."

"May I get a closer look at that gun?" RoadBlock asked curiously. He took the box from Agent Evrard and examined the gun closely without touching it. "CoverGirl come look at this."

CoverGirl stood next to RoadBlock as he held the box open for her. After examining the pistol briefly, her face became pale. "You have got to be kidding me," she whispered. She asked for permission to handle the gun. When she got it, she picked up the weapon and examined the chamber.

"What is it?" Agent Evrard asked, with a confused expression.

CoverGirl illustratively held up the gun, "Gentlemen, this is a clone of a Heckler & Koch VP70 semi-auto pistol. This sucker has been modified to be able to fire either conventional 9mm Lugers or class E 'pulse rounds' - Standard Cobra issue."

The room was silent for several seconds.

Dr. Métier finally broke the silence, "Let's not jump to conclusions. If the gun is indeed stolen it could have been modified after the fact."

"There's two problems with that," RoadBlock interrupted. "One: why would the assassin go through the trouble of modifying the gun only to use conventional rounds, especially if he was going to toss it regardless."

"And two," CoverGirl added. "Cobra tech is extremely hard to come by nowadays - even on the black market. This gun had to have been modified _before_ it was stolen. We should bring in this Marius Gaschot for questioning."

"I'm afraid that's impossible mademoiselle," The tech said nervously.

"Why is that?" asked an annoyed Agent Evrard.

The nervous tech replied, "When I looked into his registration records, he was designated as deceased."

End Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Chapter 3

Outskirts of Paris – 1247 hrs

"What kind of car did you say this was again?" asked RoadBlock.

"Peugeot," said CoverGirl.

"Well I'm glad you're driving. I never could get used to driving on the wrong side of the road the way they do here."

"You know the saying Marv's, 'When in Rome...'"

"According to the map you need to make a right at the next light...So why didn't you get a real car?"

"This _is_ a real car: Peugeot makes race cars."

"It doesn't even have a horn."

"Yes it does, but they don't put them on the steering wheels, it's on a wand in the steering column. You push it in like this:"

_HONK...HONK_

"Yuck, even their horns sound backwards."

"Next time I'll rent an American car," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just thought you'd want to expand your horizons a little."

"Yea, but with my palette, not my wheels.

"Here we are. This is the Gaschot residence at the end of the street."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

By the time RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived at the household of Marius Gaschot, it had already been over run by DGSE agents. Inside agents were deployed scanning every section of the house with various detection devices. They came upon Agent Evrard in the living room giving instructions to one of the technicians. When Evrard saw RoadBlock and CoverGirl enter, he motioned them to come over.

"It is good to see _you_ again," said Evrard.

The overly friendly tone of the greeting gave RoadBlock the impression that it was directed solely towards CoverGirl. When Evrard approached closer, he noticed that CoverGirl tended to retract uncomfortably every time Evrard stood next to her. He dismissed the subtle exchange with the understanding that Parisians and Americans have different views regarding the concept of _personal space_.

"Do you mind bringing us up to speed?" RoadBlock said to Evrard, in the hopes that the diversion would give CoverGirl some breathing room.

"But of course, this is the home of Marius Gaschot, the registered owner of the pistol we found at the crime scene. He was CEO of TSX Telecom – one of the largest telecommunication companies in France. He died last month when he lost control of his vehicle and collided head on with a trolley. We have yet to find any evidence linking him to Cobra. We've already checked outside and downstairs. We're going to check upstairs and in the attic before packing it up."

In the next room, Dr. Métier could be heard arguing with a woman. CoverGirl entered the room to investigate; they were yelling at each other in French so she couldn't understand what they were saying.

"Is there a problem?" she asked Métier.

"No," Métier replied," This is the widow Gaschot. She is just saying how distraught she is over her husband's death that's all." He left the room, checking his pager, to leave the woman sobbing quietly on a nearby sofa.

"That's not what she said," said RoadBlock, suddenly appearing behind CoverGirl. She jumped at the sound of his voice. "Sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's ok. So what _did_ she say?"

"Something about her husband having an affair."

"I didn't know you could speak French. But I guess it makes sense if you went to school here."

"I'd rather our French friends didn't know. I never fully trust spooks."

"Why don't you have a chat with the widow? I'll join the others and keep them out of your hair."

CoverGirl went back to the main room. Evrard and the other agents could be heard shuffling around upstairs. Métier was outside on the porch smoking a cigarette. She was about to sit in a corner chair when suddenly a young agent came running downstairs, almost stumbling as he entered the room.

"Mademoiselle, you are wanted upstairs! We've found something!" the agent exclaimed.

CoverGirl grabbed Métier and they followed the agent upstairs into the attic. They saw Evrard standing at the foot of a hole in the attic floor.

"I found this false floor," Evrard said. "When I removed the floorboards it revealed this secret compartment. I think what you find inside will be of interest."

CoverGirl and Métier stood on either side of Evrard and looked apprehensively into the hole. Their eyes widened in recognition of what they saw: a uniform hermetically sealed in plastic bearing the Cobra sigil. The uniform itself was the distinct color of crimson.

"...Siegie," CoverGirl said under her breath.

"What does this mean?" said Métier, almost too afraid to have asked.

"Crimson Guard – Cobra's elite troopers," replied CoverGirl. "Tell your men not to touch anything else; this place could be booby-trapped. I recommend an immediate evacuation until Hazmat and the bomb squad have a chance to sweep the attic."

"I agree," said Evrard.

"Make it so," ordered Métier.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The agents proceeded to exit the house. CoverGirl stood by the car waiting for RoadBlock. He was the last to come out with the widow; apparently he had been consoling her. He led her to the car, sat her in the backseat, and joined CoverGirl around the front of the vehicle.

"So I hear we've found us a Siegie," he said.

"Uh huh, it just keeps getting better and better," she said, shaking her head. "Did you get anything out of her?"

"Yes, Métier needs to learn that you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"He's probably under stress. Can you imagine trying to get this project off the ground only to have to deal with Cobra right out of the gate?"

"Perhaps," he responded absentmindedly.

"So what did you find out?"

"They'd been married for a year and a half. Everything was going great until a week before he died. He got a phone call in the middle of the night and ever since started acting paranoid. His behavior was so erratic that she thought he was having an affair. When he died a week later, she believed that his death was not an accident. She hired a private investigator to look into the circumstances surrounding his death. After their second meeting, the PI disappeared. She believes that he has been killed as well."

"So we're back to square one."

"Not exactly, at their last meeting the private investigator gave her this number. According to him, it's the phone number of the caller that spurred her husband's strange behavior. I checked with the operator on the land line, that number does not exist."

"Of course it doesn't, that would be too easy," she said sardonically.

DGSE Headquarter – 1654 hrs

The rest of the afternoon was filled with endless paperwork. CoverGirl looked wearily at the stack of papers that flooded her inbox. She was due for another meeting with Métier and Evrard in a few minutes. She decided to round up RoadBlock so they could go in together; she didn't want to risk being caught alone in a room with Evrard. He wasn't at his desk, so she walked around the office and found him alone in the conference room. She walked in, closing the door behind her.

"There you are," she said. "What're you doing in here?"

"Sweeping the room for bugs. One of their tech guys said they check the office regularly, but with Cobra you can't be too sure."

"Find anything?"

"Nope it's clean," he said, as he sat in a nearby chair.

"Man, if I have to file another report today I think I'll hang myself." She started pacing nervously around the room.

"Please don't do that, that'll mean more paperwork for me. You just need a good nights rest."

"I drank so much coffee today. I think I'm too wired to sleep."

"So what's the story with you and Evrard?" He leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. "You two seem awfully friendly."

"He's cute; he has nice eyes. But he comes on a little too strong for my liking." She poked a finger through one of the blades of the mini-blinds and peeked out of the window. "I'm trying to be nice because we have to work together."

"Just tell him you're not interested. He doesn't look the type to get bent out of shape over it."

"I may have to do that," she plopped herself in the chair across the table from RoadBlock.

Just then, Dr. Métier and Agent Evrard entered the conference room. Behind them, a forensic technician carried a box marked 'evidence'. He laid it on the table and left the room. Dr. Métier opened the box and placed the contents on the table: a Crimson Guard Uniform, a collection of passports, traveler's checks, encoded documents and computer disks.

Dr. Métier began, "this is what we've recovered from the Gaschot residence so far. I want to know everything there is to know about Marius Gaschot. We can start with his position in Cobra. What does a Crimson Guardsman do exactly?"

"Simply put the Crimson Guard are sleeper agents," RoadBlock said. "They are experts in clandestine warfare. Cobra's version of a spook."

"If this is true," Métier said, "then why would Marius do something so stupid as to register his gun. Wouldn't he risk compromising his cover?"

"Not when you understand their SOP," CoverGirl replied. "Siegies insert themselves into the upper echelons of industry and government until as such time as they are activated. They fight equally well on the battlefield as they do in the boardroom. However, until they are activated they stay under the radar. When they are in cover they are model citizens: church deacons, troop leaders, they follow the laws of the land."

"I see your point CoverGirl," Evrard said, "In France we have strict gun control laws here. Although there are loopholes in certain situations, it would have been less of a risk to register the gun than to risk getting caught with an unregistered military caliber firearm."

"Yes but these firearms are illegally modified, isn't that a greater risk?" said Métier.

"Not necessarily," said RoadBlock. "You have to understand that these modifications are not noticeable to the casual observer. In fact, I doubt that anyone outside of GI JOE would be able to spot one, since we have more experience with Cobra. A law enforcement official would most likely mistake it for the common VP70 model that it's designed after."

"So what you're telling me is the fact that a Cobra gun was found at the crime scene could be a coincidence," Métier said.

RoadBlock replied, "Its certainly possible, but --"

"You said it yourself," Métier remarked, "If these Cobras are so good at subterfuge it is certainly possible that a burglar could have broken into his house, not knowing who he was stealing from. He fences his haul on the black market, including the gun, and our Algerian assassin buys it because it can't be traced back to him." He looked around the room to see if there were any objections to his reasoning. Everyone seemed to be in agreement so he continued, "Since there is no evidence linking these two events, we will conduct two separate investigations: Agent Evrard will continue to follow the Algerian lead, and you GI JOEs will continue with the Cobra connection."

"Agent Evrard," Métier continued, "What is the status of the Algerians?"

"We have nothing," Evrard replied, "We increased surveillance of known Algerian spies, but there has been no chatter about the slayings. On top of that, we're starting to get pressure from the local authorities. We are soon going to be forced to release our findings to the Inspector General."

"Wait until the autopsy reports come back," said Métier, "be candid about the facts only, and make no mention of Cobra. That means you will make no mention of finding a murder weapon."

"Understood," Evrard replied.

"RoadBlock and CoverGirl, is there anything you need for your investigation?" Métier said.

"Well let's start with what else is in that evidence box," CoverGirl responded.

"There were parts from an AK-47," Evrard said, "but the more interesting items are some documents and computer disks. They are encoded so we are sending them to our encryption experts."

"We can put MainFrame on that," Roadblock said, "he has more experience cracking snake-speak."

"Thank you, but our men are more than qualified," Evrard pointed out. "Any data that doesn't compromise national security will be freely shared with you."

"With your permission, we're going to need more access to you gun registration database," said CoverGirl. "Assuming other Siegies will follow the same MO, doing a query of all people who have registered that brand of pistol should give us a place to start."

"This is reasonable," Evrard responded. "I will give GIJOE read-only access to our databases. If you need _any_ other information CoverGirl, I will be more than happy to provide it."

RoadBlock, noticed that Evrard's last comment made CoverGirl shift uncomfortably in her chair. He shot back, "thank-you Agent Evrard. _I_ will be sure to do that."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After the meeting, RoadBlock and CoverGirl remained behind to check in with BeachHead.

"Do you believe that coincidence theory?" CoverGirl asked.

"No, but maybe it's for the best," RoadBlock said, as he dialed the number to GI JOE headquarters, "not so many chefs stirring the pot."

The line to BeachHead's office rang, "BeachHead here."

"BeachHead this is RoadBlock and CoverGirl, we have you on speaker phone. We need some tech support."

"Go ahead."

"We need a list of all registered owners of VP70's in France."

"Siegies?"

"Affirmative."

"Roger that, but that's a common handgun. You're gonna want to narrow those search params."

"RoadBlock, what about the number you got from the widow," CoverGirl added.

"Good thinking," RoadBlock said. "BeachHead cross-reference the result set with those that have received calls from this phone number in the past 6 months. Be advised that this number may no longer be in service."

BeachHead, after writing down the number responded, "If it's Crimson Guard, then the number is probably spoofed. It won't do you any good to try to find the caller."

"That's ok," CoverGirl added, "It should be enough to find a commonality in the result set, which is what we're after anyway."

"Agreed, I'll put DialTone on it," BeachHead said, "Where are you going to drop the raw data?"

"Have him Contact an Agent Evrard at this office; tell him it's for CoverGirl."

"Understood, anything else?"

"No. Thanks Beach. We'll check in again tomorrow."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Back in his Hotel Room, RoadBlock slumped out of the shower; it did little to soothe his aching muscles. He hasn't had very much sleep in the past 2 days and was looking forward to plopping in bed and drifting off. He laid in bed and could immediately feel his eyelids become very heavy. Suddenly he was jarred awake by a knocking sound. He wearily pulled himself from the warm bosom of the bed's embrace to answer the door. It was CoverGirl.

"Get dressed, we're going out," She said, as she barged in.

"Excuse me?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Evrard called again, he invited me out to dinner. You know, the one where you guys claim that it's to catch up on work, but it's really a date in disguise."

"Oh, you mean that doesn't work with you ladies?" he said with a smirk.

"Hardly," she responded impatiently, narrowing her eyes.

"I thought you were going to tell him that you weren't interested?"

"I did, but he's the type that thinks 'no' means 'try harder'. It's time to nip this in the bud."

"So what do you want me to do, rough him up a little?"

"Of course not!"

"What then?" he said, yawning.

"I was hoping you could tag along and pretend to be my boyfriend?" she said meekly.

"I don't know Courtney, I'm tired."

"Aww, c'mon."

"I don't want to."

"Please."

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what you're doing: biting the lower lip, the puppy-dog eyes...Its not going to work."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, sobbing afterwards.

"Now you're crying? That's a new low Courtney; even for you...ok...alright...I'll do it." He held his hands up in surrender.

"Thanks Marvs," she turned to walk out – her sobbing replaced by restrained laughter. "Be ready in half an hour. And for goodness sake, put on something sexy."

"Yea ok, but I'm not paying for dinner!"

"I thought you said you _didn't_ want to be my boyfriend."

"Oh you're _sooooo_ funny!"

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Thirty minutes later, RoadBlock arrived at CoverGirl's room next door and knocked.

"Ok I'm ready," said CoverGirl opening the door and joining him in the hallway. She was dressed in a deep ruby red leather jacket that hung down to her knees with black leather pumps that matched her purse.

"That's a nice jacket."

"Thanks, its one of the perks left over from my modeling days. It's so old that it's back in style. Darn it, my strap is loose again. Do you mind taking my jacket so I can fix it?"

"Sure."

She turned her back to RoadBlock. He took her jacket by the arms and was greeted with a faint whiff of her perfume - spurring him to inhale her scent deeply. Standing so close to her, he noticed how the soft lighting of the hallway picked up the highlights of her hair, giving it the color of caramelized cinnamon. The coat fell off her naked shoulders to reveal a black sequined evening dress that hung loosely halfway down her back, suspended by spaghetti straps. His eyes followed the contour of the silky fabric as it narrowed at her slender waist. It continued to fan out like an hourglass over her hips; clinging to her perfect form down the small of her back, and rounding out to the curve of her--

"Marvin?"

"Huh? What?"

"I said you can give me my coat back."

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Hey...were you giving me the 'elevator stare' just now?"

"What? No way, I just never saw you in a dress before."

"What did you expect me to wear, my grease-stained mechanics overalls?"

"Now that you mention it, I kinda did. The last time I saw you on base you were hocking up lugees with the guys in the motor pool to see who could spit the farthest."

"Oh yea I remember that," she recalled, laughing afterward. "I won that you know; made it all the way to the Maulers."

He joined in her laughter, "Seriously Courtney, I'm sorry about that. I feel like a jerk."

"Its ok, lighten up Marvs," she said as she took his arm on the way to the elevator. "This isn't going to be weird for you is it?"

"Naw, I can handle it. We're adults right?"

"Most of the time."

"Just do me a favor and try not to walk like that."

"Walk like what?"

"And the coat stays _on..._all night!"

2nd arrondissement - 1927 hrs

RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived at Jacques Bistro without incident. Inside, Evrard already had a table reserved and was waiting. He smiled when he saw CoverGirl approach, but his expression changed to surprise when he saw that RoadBlock was with her.

"Hello Agent Evrard, I figured since we'll be discussing work, that I should bring RoadBlock along with me. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Evrard said graciously, "the more the merrier."

CoverGirl looked over the menu, she grabbed RoadBlock's hand tenderly, "So what're you in the mood for sweetie?"

RoadBlock kissed her hand gently, "I don't know puddin'. What do you recommend Agent Evrard? And don't try any funny business, I know what 'es-kar-gat' means," he said, purposefully butchering the pronunciation.

"You should know better than I, you are a trained chef are you not?" Evrard said.

Now it was RoadBlock who was surprised. He made a mental note never to underestimate Agent Evrard again.

"So you two are together?" Evrard asked.

"Yes, he's my big strong Mandingo."

"And she's so cute it's a _sin_, she's my girl - my vanilla _puddin'_."

"I see," Evrard said before up from the table. "Excuse me, I must wash my hands before we order."

When Evrard was out of earshot, RoadBlock and CoverGirl started to laugh.

"You laid that on a little thick didn't you, I think you broke his heart," he said.

"No, I think he took that well."

"Yea, but 'Mandingo?'"

"Did you like that one? I was holding it in all day."

"It wasn't bad. But how did you like mine? I was proud of that one--"

"Nah, I wasn't digging it; its not you're best work."

"Dang girl, you didn't have to be so quick with that retort. You could've at least _acted_ like you were trying to spare my feelings."

"Well I'm sorry, but it didn't rhyme - 'sin' with 'pudding' doesn't work."

"Yes it _does,_ you just have to play with it. Besides, it doesn't _always_ have to rhyme."

"Quiet, he's coming back."

When Evrard returned, they ordered their meals. Although the evening started awkwardly, the three of them had an enjoyable time. Once the pressure was off, CoverGirl and Evrard seemed to hit it off. RoadBlock noticed that she didn't even cringe when Evrard placed his hand on hers as they laughed over a joke. After the appetizers were served, their waiter brought RoadBlock and CoverGirl their soup then left. Immediately afterward, an attractive waitress brought Evrard a plate of shellfish. RoadBlock watched her leave, then flagged down their waiter.

"Tell Gilbert that Marvin says he's slipping - he had the waitress bring out my friend's shellfish before his soup," RoadBlock told the waiter in French.

"I am sorry sir," replied the waiter, "I had to go back for his soup. I have it here. But I am confused as to who brought the shellfish; we have no waitress on the floor tonight."

Just as Evrard was about to take a bite of shellfish, RoadBlock leaned over the table and grabbed his arm.

"Don't eat that!" he exclaimed.

"Marvs, what's gotten into you?" said CoverGirl.

"This meal is served, '_service a la russe',_" he said.

In understanding, Evrard immediately dropped his shellfish.

"I don't understand?" said CoverGirl.

"_Service a la russe_ means that each course is served in a particular way and in a particular order," said Evrard, "I should have gotten the soup next as you did, not the shellfish."

"Sheesh guys, maybe she brought it to the wrong table."

"The waiter said, there are no women on the floor tonight," said RoadBlock. "With things the way they are now for us with Cobra and the Algerians it could be-"

"-poisoned," CoverGirl interjected.

"I will call the Action Team," said Evrard.

"No," said RoadBlock, getting up from the table, "this could be our only chance. You stay here in case she doubles back. CoverGirl and I will tail her."

RoadBlock and CoverGirl ran back to the kitchen. There was no sign of the waitress. CoverGirl heard RoadBlock speaking to one of the chefs in French. The chef pointed to a door in the back. She followed him through the back door. They followed the trail in the alley behind the restaurant. Staying in the shadows, they spotted the waitress across the street trying to get into a building that was hosting some kind of gala event. She showed the doorman a badge and was allowed to pass.

"She had this well planned, she could easily lose anyone trying to follow her in that crowd," RoadBlock said. "It looks like an exclusive event, how do we get in?"

"It's a fashion show. I know how these things work, follow my lead."

When they approached, CoverGirl had RoadBlock wait at the foot of the stairs where the red carpet began. Without explaining why, she had unbuttoned his shirt halfway, exposing his muscular chest. RoadBlock watched her as she talked to the doorman, but he couldn't hear what was being said. He was suddenly distracted by a camera crew focused on a well dressed couple who had just walked by. He thought he recognized them as celebrities, but couldn't remember their names. Suddenly, he was blinded by camera flashes from a wave of paparazzi that descended upon him. Disorientated, his muscled tensed as in anticipation of an attack; then, out of nowhere, CoverGirl took his arm and began posing with the cameras.

"Don't just stand there, smile and wave," she said as she led him to the entrance.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to keep up.

He didn't get an answer. As she pushed him past the doorman and went inside, she turned to the crowd and blew them a farewell kiss.

"Yea Champ!" the doorman cheered at them.

"Courtney, what did you do?" RoadBlock hesitated in asking.

"Oh that? Its nothing...I just told them that you were Marvin Hammler," she said meekly.

"The Middle Weight Champion? I'm going to get you back for this Courtney!"

The room was packed with celebrities and photographers who congregated around the runway, all waiting to give praise to their golden calf on an altar of fashion.

"Let's hurry up and get this done. I can't stand this place – frikkin' hypocrites," CoverGirl said over the din of the crowd.

"I see the target over by the bar."

The two of them split up, CoverGirl headed to the bar and RoadBlock circled around the other side. CoverGirl ordered a drink and sat on the opposite end - watching her target as she tried to blend in. A couple of guys then tried to hit on CoverGirl, blocking her view in the process. She was able to get rid of them, but when she regained a clear line of sight, she saw that the waitress was looking in her direction. Their eyes met for a split second before CoverGirl looked away, trying to pretend she didn't see her. But it was too late; when she dared to look again, the waitress had already left the bar and headed backstage. CoverGirl looked desperately into the crowd for RoadBlock, but he was nowhere to be seen.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

She followed her and slipped backstage with the other models. The experience was surreal; a lifetime ago she was one of them: the money, the glamour, the adoration – it was as intoxicating as she remembered. She felt her stomach twist in knots, reminding her of why she left in the first place: because it was a world of surface without substance. She cursed herself for even daring to imagine herself back in front of the camera. She had a job to do.

Her quarry eluded her; who ever it was she was following was good - too good. She needed camouflage to become a part of this fashion jungle. She found the nearest rack and dressed herself like the surrounding fauna. She grabbed a mirror and touched up her war-paint for the hunt. She evaluated her improvised look: it was hardly vogue-worthy but that was okay; all she needed was a degree of verisimilitude. She stalked her prey behind the curtain to no avail. She was about to retrace her steps when she saw a model in the fashion queue that caught her eye; the third model from the end with the purple wig. She had to be the one: there was no way any self respecting designer would match that top with that skirt.

Before CoverGirl could ambush her, _Purple-wig_ stepped onto the floor. Time was up; the hunt was over. She noticed a security team was converging on her position. She had to make a move now. She cut into the fashion queue and followed Purple-wig onto the stage. She was greeted with cheers and flashing lights as she strutted down the runway. She didn't know what angered her more: the exhilaration she felt from walking down the runway again, or the fact that her body remembered how to do it – she felt like a damn hypocrite! Purple-wig reached the end of the runway and turned around to go back. When she saw CoverGirl, she stopped in her tracks. The two women now stared each other down face-to-face.

CoverGirl rushed her and was greeted with a kick to the stomach and a left hook to the chin. The crowd cheered thinking it was part of the show. CoverGirl spat on the ground, grateful that there were no teeth mixed in the pool of blood and spittle. She was also grateful for the punch; it snapped her out of her stupor and reminded her of who she was.

She was so grateful that she thanked Purple-wig by digging the spike of her heel into her shin. She thanked her again by grabbing her hair and driving her knee into her face. And she thanked her one more time with an elbow to the jaw. But Purple-wig said _you're welcome_ with a spinning back kick to the chest.

CoverGirl got her guard up in time to make the block, but the force of the kick knocked her backwards giving Purple-wig time to exit the stage. CoverGirl was helped to her feet by two security guards and escorted off the runway. On the way out, she spotted RoadBlock. He had gotten cornered by fans and was stuck signing autographs. When he saw her being thrown out by the guards, he went to go help her. She stopped him and pointed in the direction of Purple-wig. He saw Purple-wig slip out through the fire exit and followed her instead.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

In the alleyway behind the studio RoadBlock finally caught up with Purple-wig. She had stopped to talk to someone veiled in a large menacing shadow. When she saw RoadBlock, she pointed at him before running off. A man stepped out of the shadows to face RoadBlock, blocking the way to Purple-wig.

"I suggest you let me _pass_, before I proceed to whup your _ass_," RoadBlock said to the stranger.

He was a whole head taller than RoadBlock. Dressed in dark slacks and a double-breasted trench coat, he appeared unassuming in spite of his massive frame. His features were expressionless; his eyes were glazed as if they were staring at some distant object. RoadBlock never thought he would ever meet someone more aloof than LowLight. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to ponder on the subject. Purple-wig was going to get away unless he got rid of _Mr. Aloof _quickly.

RoadBlock rushed him with a punch to the solar plexus – leaning extra heavy into it, and twisting his knuckles with the punch for good measure. To his surprise, the punch was completely ineffective. To make matters worse, the extra 'body english' he put into the punch made it hang on its target long enough for Mr. Aloof to catch it in a vice-like grip. This guy was strong: the force of the grip tightened and RoadBlock could feel the radius and ulna in his forearm being forced closer and closer together.

Resolved to break free before his bones snapped, RoadBlock attacked his captor's wrist with his free elbow - bringing all his weight to bear against it. His training told him that the larger muscles of his upper arm should overpower the smaller muscles of his opponent's wrist. The assumption proved correct; he was able to break free – barely.

Using the momentum put behind the wrist break, he continued to twist his body a full 360° to deliver a spinning backfist with his newly freed hand. More out of surprise than pain, Mr. Aloof stumbled backwards. Before he could regain his balance, RoadBlock charged him, grabbed his waist, and hoisted him over his shoulders to attempt a suplex. As he picked him up, RoadBlock was surprised at how heavy he was – deceptively heavy even for a man of that size. Miscalculating the weight, RoadBlock took too long to raise him into position. Before he could shift his weight to compensate, RoadBlock felt his legs buckle as a fist smashed into his back. RoadBlock fell to the ground grabbing his lower back as Mr. Aloof stood over him. He mused that this must be one of those fighting situations that BeachHead would refer to as, 'less that ideal'.

Between the waves of pain, RoadBlock thought he heard the sound of a car engine getting louder and louder.

_HONK...HONK_

When he heard the familiar car horn, he instinctively rolled backwards out of the way. The next thing he heard was the sound of 2000 lbs. of French steel smash into Mr. Aloof with a force sufficient to send him flying several feet like a rag doll into a nearby dumpster. The impact sounded like the gong of a bell and left a dent into the corroded steel of the empty trash bin. The driver of the car pulled up next to RoadBlock and rolled the window down.

"I told ya it's a race-car?" said CoverGirl, with a smirk.

"Ok," RoadBlock replied, "but I still don't like the horn." He walked around the front of the car to inspect the smashed grill. "You know the bean counters aren't going to like this."

"Don't worry; I paid the extra ten bucks for the damage waiver. Get in; I'll have Evrard send in the meat wagon for this guy while we go back after the girl."

RoadBlock walked back around to the passenger side. He was about to open the door to get in when he noticed a strange reflection in the windshield. When he turned to see what it was, he could not accept what his eyes were showing him: the dumpster was flying through the air on a collision course with the car.

On pure instinct, CoverGirl put the car in reverse and hit the accelerator. The clutch screamed as it tried to engage the transmission. She managed to avoid the dumpster-projectile, but the car was still clipped at an odd angle sending it in a sideways skid.

RoadBlock looked towards the projectile's point of origin and there stood Mr. Aloof. RoadBlock felt anger swelling up inside him; if that dumpster had connected as intended, it could have killed CoverGirl. He made his way to this new enemy – ready for round 2.

Getting a sense of what RoadBlock was going to do; CoverGirl leaned out of the window to sit on top of the door. She screamed at RoadBlock from over the roof of the vehicle, "GET IN THE DAMN CAR...NOW!"

RoadBlock turned to her and met her glare – her eyes were not angry, they were pleading. That, and the pain in his back, made him heed the better part of valor. RoadBlock climbed in as CoverGirl furiously tried to get the car in gear to no avail.

"What's wrong," he said.

"I must have stripped the clutch; it's stuck in reverse. Hang on!" she said as she hit the accelerator causing the engine to roar as they headed backwards down the alley.

"He's still coming."

"I know."

"Where are we going?"

"Where does it look like?"

"Don't tell me you're going to drive through the highway in reverse?"

"Sure I won't _tell_ you that. But you might want to buckle up anyway."

"That doesn't inspire confidence!"

"Don't worry, I've driven through worse."

"Yea but that was in a 10 ton Wolverine!"

They reached the end of the alley and peeled out onto the thoroughfare with Mr. Aloof after them on foot. Driving through the obstacle course of traffic backwards slowed them down just enough to allow their pursuer to keep pace.

"I left my gun in the trunk," said RoadBlock.

"Here take mine," keeping her eyes on the road through the rear window, CoverGirl threw her M1911A1 .45 caliber gun in RoadBlock's lap.

"Wait a minute girl, where did you conceal this hand-cannon with that dress?" he asked as he chambered the weapon.

"That's _not_ information you're privy to on a first date soldier!"

RoadBlock leaned out the side of the window and unloaded the pistol:

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"I'm out"

"There's another clip in my purse, any luck?"

"I hit him dead center with 3 rounds. It didn't even slow him down. He's wearing high grade body armor."

"Wait a minute, only three? There's fifteen rounds in that clip, try aiming next time!"

"I would if you weren't driving like ShipWreck on acid."

"The next time we're being chased by a homicidal dumpster-tossing mutant, you drive."

RoadBlock reloaded, leaned out of the window – this time sitting on the door - and started shooting at their pursuer:

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Suddenly, CoverGirl swerved violently to avoid rear ending a nearby sedan that moved into her lane. The force threw RoadBlock out of the window, but he managed to avoid getting smeared on the street by hooking his arm around the side view mirror. He started to climb back in as CoverGirl – struggling to regain control of the vehicle – came dangerously close to a line of parked cars along the curb. RoadBlock managed to get one leg back inside when he noticed a door, from one of the parked cars, swing open in his path.

"Uh, Courtney..."

"Not now, you'll have to deal with it!"

He didn't have time to get his other leg back inside so he braced himself against the frame and kicked the oncoming open door as hard as he could. The force of his kick, added with the speed of the car, was sufficient to knock the door off of its hinges. RoadBlock caught the dislodged door in mid-air for fear that it would hit any nearby pedestrians. He didn't have nearly as much altruistic concern for Mr. Aloof however. With all of his strength he threw the door at him like a make-shift Frisbee – and it struck home. Mr. Aloof absorbed the force of the projectile, but physics demanded that he be knocked off his feet and sent skidding across the pavement to the other side of the street. Relieved, RoadBlock climbed back into the car as CoverGirl regained control of the vehicle. He found her yelling at the top of her lungs at the driver of the sedan that cut her off.

"It's called a blinker moron! Use it! ... I don't know what the world is coming to. People just lack common courtesy these days-"

"Courtney," RoadBlock interrupted, "we're out of any immediate danger, but we have to get off this street. There's too many civvies."

"I agree."

"Are you okay? You look down."

"No, I was just thinking how sad it was that this is the best date I've had in months."

End Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Chapter 4

DGSE Headquarters – 0625 hrs

RoadBlock staggered sleepily the next morning into DGSE headquarters. The events of the past few days had begun to weigh heavily on him. The lack of sleep didn't necessarily bother him, but usually he would have had the choice of either cooking his favorite dish or shooting his _Ma Deuce_ to take the edge off. Neither of which has been an option of late. Since he and Cover Girl no longer had a car to share, he awoke extra early so he would have time to take the trolley and stop by a convenience store for some groceries. He hoped to go into the staff kitchen and whip up an omelet before he had to report for duty. He arrived in the cafeteria and was pleasantly surprised: most of the floor was devoted to the kitchen. The facilities were on par with the equipment back home. In the self-serve area there was a Conti z500 espresso machine – they weren't even supposed to be on the market until next spring. As he continued to survey the rest of the food court, he noticed that there were a few stragglers left over from the graveyard shift reading the morning paper and drinking coffee. In the far corner, he saw CoverGirl. She was easy to spot since she was the only other person in the building besides himself that wore a U.S. standard issue Army uniform. As he approached, he noticed she was also drinking coffee and reading some reports – apparently getting an early start on the day. She looked lost in her thoughts as she read the papers scattered across her desk. She held a coffee cup in one hand and had her head cradled in the other - although it was covered by her auburn hair as it draped down to her sleeve. When she perceived his presence she looked up at him and gave him a smile.

"Good morning Marvs," she said.

"Good morning Courtney." He had woken up that morning in a bad mood. Moreover, he was resigned to wallow in his self-righteous grumpiness – it was the only outlet he had to vent his frustrations. However, upon seeing her, he found himself cheerfully returning her smile against his will. How did she do that to him with just a look?

"Gee you look like crap. Rough night?"

"Yeah, I had a hot date."

"Oh? How did it go?"

"Well, I got beat down, humiliated, and thrown out of a car."

"She sounds like a handful – assuming you're not _into_ that," she said, with a wicked grin.

"No. And to top it all off she didn't even put out."

CoverGirl rewarded his sarcasm with a punch to the arm.

"Ow!"

"Here drink this Mr. Grumpy," she said, handing him her coffee, "before you say something _else_ that you'll regret."

"Damn," he said, after taking a sip, "this is some good coffee." He took another sip, "I reiterate: damn."

"I know! The scuttlebutt is that Métier imports this custom blend directly from Brazil. No one knows what's in it, and he won't tell."

"Brazil you say?" He took a larger sip and swished the beverage around his tongue several times before swallowing. "I detect a Typica and Bourbon blend. However, those beans have a high natural acidity that's not present here; he must balance it out with a milder Columbian hybrid."

"That's amazing Marvs! Do you think you can figure it out? I could probably use that info as currency around here."

"Yeah, but I'll have to drink some more to be sure," he said, before he took another sip.

"Great, while you're up would you be a dear and bring me back another cup also... Don't look at me like that; you just drank all of mine!"

RoadBlock went back to the self-serve area and returned with more coffee. He placed a fresh cup next to CoverGirl and happened to look over her shoulder to see what she was reading.

"Getting an early start?" he asked.

"Uh huh. This is the result set from the query we put in with DialTone," she said, handing him a single sheet of paper with a list of names."

"This is great! Are Métier and Evrard aware of this?"

"Yes, I put copies in their In-boxes. Although this isn't a comprehensive list - it only involves the metropolitan areas. Most of the outlying districts aren't computerized yet so we have to wait for the hard copies."

"It's still an excellent start." He placed the page down and picked up another set of reports, "What else is in here?"

"DialTone was very thorough. He included bios of everyone on the list. So far everyone fits the profile: all well-to-do citizens, pillars of the community, no criminal records. Its encouraging, but it proves nothing."

"Look at it this way, it doesn't _disprove_ anything either," he said, as he took the seat next to her.

"You're right. Oh by the way, this envelope came in with the report. It was marked for your eyes only, so I figured it would be safer if I held onto it before you got in."

"Thanks," RoadBlock said. He broke the seal on the envelope and started reading the contents inside. "I asked MainFrame to dig up some additional dirt on Evrard and Métier. You know, the stuff they don't tell you in the official reports. Hmm..."

"What is it?"

"Evrard's service record; It's a boring read, but nothing short of exemplary. I thought BeachHead was by-the-book, but he's got nothing on this guy. It's technically flawless."

"What about Métier?"

"Métier's is more colorful. He majored in sociology and international politics. Graduated top of his class, and did his dissertation on the dynamics of terrorism. He's brilliant, but was considered sort of a rebel for his unorthodox views. Apparently, he's been transferred to 5 different government agencies in as many years. I guess he doesn't like to stay in one place for very long."

"Either that or he has trouble getting along with the status quo. I seem to remember him mentioning having contact with GI JOE before. What does it say about that?"

"I'm just getting to that part. Here it is. The Worldwide Defense Initiative: security was headed by Stalker, Lady-Jaye, Gung-Ho, and Spirit...this was GI JOE's first recorded encounter with Zartan. He kidnapped Dr. Métier and assumed his identity to gain entry in an attempt to sabotage the conference."

"Métier failed to mention that little tidbit of information. It's interesting that both times he tried to get this project off the ground, there's been Cobra involvement. Talk about lighting striking twice in the same place."

"Not to mention he's been compromised before. Do you want to entertain another coincidence theory?"

"No way. So what are we going to tell theses guys about what we saw last night? We have a meeting at the beginning of our shift."

"I've been meaning to ask _you_ because I'm not sure myself. It could be the Algerians, or Cobra or some other player."

"My money is on Cobra."

"Maybe, but I just wish we had more to go on than just our gut. Did you get a good enough look at the girl we tailed for a description?"

"No, between the fighting, the noise, and the flashing lights it was all a blur. What about you? You had to have gotten a good look at her when she brought us our food?"

"Well," RoadBlock said blushing, "I wasn't exactly checking out her face..."

CoverGirl punched him in the arm again.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, as he rubbed his arm. "You hit the exact same spot."

"Men!" she said in an annoyed tone, as she folded her arms. "Anyway, what about that big Frankenstein wanna-bee in the trench coat? I figure that must've been a B.A.T."

"A _B_attle _A_ndroid _T_rooper? No it wasn't."

"How can you be so sure? I've seen a B.A.T. throw an AWE-Striker, I've seen them dust themselves off after falling off of skyscrapers, and I've even seen them push through a few dozen rounds from an M60-"

"But you forget I fought this guy up close. He was wearing body armor like a man. He was breathing like a man. And he stank like a man."

"But no _man_ could do the things he did. Even Serpentor wasn't that strong."

"No not Serpentor. But the last time I fought something like that it had wings - bat wings."

"What? Oh no! You're not thinking what I think you're thinking are you?!"

"Cobrala's _Nemesis Enforcer_."

"Please don't tell me those guys are involved. I thought we wiped them out."

"I don't know. This guy didn't have the wings, but he was just as strong and twice as mean."

"This is all giving me a headache," she put her coffee down and massaged her temples. "So what do we say?"

"We really can't _say_ anything: information regarding Cobrala is at least 10 levels above top-secret. "

"You're right, but I can't help feeling like a bit of a hypocrite."

"You know secrets are all part of the game."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After a quick breakfast, RoadBlock and CoverGirl finished going over the reports and headed upstairs for their morning debriefing.

"By the way," RoadBlock said, "how did you get here so early?"

"Evrard gave me a ride," she said meekly.

"What?!"

"He knew our car was totaled; he was so sweet to have offered."

"You couldn't have given a Brother a call? Maybe _I_ wanted a ride too."

"Well I felt bad about everything you went through last night. I figured you would want to sleep in, so I didn't wake you."

"Well you _should_ feel bad. You know when this gets back home the other JOEs are going rub my face in it. It's bad enough that I have the _same_ first name and initials as that boxer guy."

"Yes Marvs, but you're _way_ prettier than he is. Besides, you have nothing to worry about. That fashion show was small potatoes. What loser would've been up last night watching that?"

Relieved, RoadBlock nodded his head in agreement. They got off the elevator and checked in with the floor guard. RoadBlock held the door open for her as they entered the main office. Once inside they found the morning shift busy at work. When they were spotted, however, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at RoadBlock. It was completely quiet in the office; you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, they all chanted in unison:

CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP!

After the initial shock, RoadBlock turned to his right to scold CoverGirl, but she wasn't there. He turned to his left, then to his back – she was nowhere to be found. Alone he walked through the crowd of agents as they teased him at his expense. However, he took it all in good stride; after all, he had to admit it was a _little_ funny. He entered the conference room to find Métier, Evrard, and CoverGirl waiting. CoverGirl was careful not to show any expression of humor in her face. Evrard was sitting quietly next to Métier, who was reading a section of the newspaper that had a picture of RoadBlock and CoverGirl from the fashion show last night. Métier put down the paper when he noticed RoadBlock come in.

"It has come to my attention that we had a break in the case last night," Métier said.

"Yes," Evrard said. "We identified a suspect but she got away before we could apprehend her. She had help of course."

"I see," Métier said. "Why didn't you call in the Action Team for support?"

"There was no time," RoadBlock said after he sat down at the table across from CoverGirl. "Besides, we didn't want to attract any undue attention to ourselves-" RoadBlock stopped himself too late. He cursed inwardly at the sheer stupidity of his last statement.

Métier, acting oblivious to the irony, responded, "So this is how you normally tail suspects in America?"

RoadBlock looked to CoverGirl for an answer.

"_Yes?_" she said hesitantly.

"Yes," RoadBlock parroted back at her in agreement.

"Yes," they both answered in unison as they looked back to Métier.

RoadBlock added, "Its GI JOE special surveillance tactics training...stuff."

"Fine," Métier raised his hand at RoadBlock – signaling him to stop while he was ahead, "that's all we need to say about that then. First things first, what do we know about the suspect?"

"We had the shellfish analyzed," Evrard said. "It was tainted with a very aggressive derivative of _saxitoxin_. Certainly fatal, there probably would have been no foul play suspected because it so closely resembles the toxins associated with standard Paralytic Shellfish Poisoning."

"So it would appear," Métier continued, "that whoever is killing off Cobra agents tried to kill the three of you last night-"

"Wait a minute," CoverGirl interrupted, "let's rewind that. You said Cobra _agents_ in the plural. What's going on here?"

"I'm sorry mademoiselle, we just found out ourselves," Evrard said, "We did some checking on the names in that list of possible Cobra spies you gave us: out of the 36 possible suspects, 15 of them have died over the course of the past 8 months. Their deaths at the time were all non-suspicious; having ranged from car accidents to apparent suicides."

"That's almost half - with the same M.O. as Gaschot," RoadBlock said, "that can't be a coincidence."

"Agreed," Métier responded, "I am forced to acknowledge that there is a link between the Algerians and Cobra."

"The prevailing theory is that there is some sort of war between the two factions," Evrard added.

"But why are they carrying it out in secret?" CoverGirl pointed out. "That's not the usual M.O. – for either of them. Have there been any 'accidental' deaths on the Algerian side?"

"None that we've noticed. All known Algerian cells and suspects have been relatively inactive," Evrard said.

"So either Cobra's elite are getting their butts kicked by these loosely-organized fundamentalist upstarts, or there's another player at the table," RoadBlock mused.

"Is there something else that you haven't told us?" Métier asked.

RoadBlock looked to CoverGirl for an answer.

"_No?_" she said hesitantly.

"No," RoadBlock parroted back at her in agreement.

"No," they both answered in unison as they looked back to Métier.

"In that case let's continue," Métier said. "Without more to go on, let's redouble our efforts on the Cobra connection. The best lead we have so far is the information we got from the widow Gaschot. I want to re-interview her immediately."

"Why are we wasting our time with dead suspects?" CoverGirl said, "Why don't we track down the remaining suspects on the list and round them up?"

"As you know mademoiselle, in keeping with the Crimson Guard M.O., it is implied that the suspects are all men of power and influence. We cannot simply 'round them up' without due process – the legal ramifications could jeopardize the entire project. I know the concept may be foreign to you Americans, but we are still a country of laws," Métier said.

RoadBlock quickly turned to CoverGirl – ready to intervene in case she decided to rebuke Métier's sarcasm. He was relieved that CoverGirl bit her tongue, although he was sure it was not without considerable effort on her part.

"Dr. Métier, surely there would be no harm to _ask_ them a few questions?" Evrard said.

"I don't think that would be prudent." Métier replied. "We don't want to potentially alert Cobra that we've uncovered their spy network. Like any other, this situation calls for patient intelligence gathering. We will keep the suspects under surveillance. In the meantime, RoadBlock I would like you to accompany me since you have a rapport with the widow Gaschot. Evrard, I would like you and CoverGirl to find the whereabouts of the private detective she hired."

"His name is Guillaume Adjani; we haven't been able to account for his whereabouts since his last meeting with the widow," CoverGirl added. "I suggest we start at his office for leads."

"This is reasonable," Evrard said.

"Make is so," Métier said.

With the meeting adjourned, the four of them left the conference room.

14th arrondissement – 0913 hrs

The drive was quiet on the way to the widow Gaschot's home in the outskirts of Paris. This was the first time RoadBlock has been alone with Métier for any extended period of time. He dreaded that Métier would feel obligated to fill the silence with idle banter.

"So how long have you been with GI JOE?"

"Almost since the beginning."

"Is Gung Ho still with your unit?"

"Yes he is, why?"

"I am very fond of his gumbo."

"You've tried Gung Ho's gumbo?"

"Oui, a long time ago, but I never got the recipe."

"I'll pass it along the next time I see him."

RoadBlock elected not to press the conversation. After all, he was not fond of small talk – especially with strangers. To his relief, the car phone range and Métier picked it up. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned the car around to go back into town.

"Is something wrong?" RoadBlock asked.

"There has been a new development. We are on our way to another crime scene."

6th arrondissement – 0919 hrs

CoverGirl and Agent Evrard arrived at the office building of Guillaume Adjani – the private investigator hired by the widow Gaschot. When they arrived, they were initially barred from entering the floor that contained Adjani's office space. After getting approval from building management, they were led to the appropriate floor by the manager. They were shocked to discover that the floor was in the middle of repairs due to extensive fire damage. CoverGirl already knew where this was going: the further into the building they got the worse the damage was. She stopped when she got to the obvious epicenter of the blaze.

"Let me guess, this is the office space that Adjani was leasing," she said.

"Oui mademoiselle," said the manager, "it is also the believed origin of the fire. The repairs are on hiatus pending an investigation by the insurance company."

"So arson is suspected," Evrard pointed out, "Was anyone hurt in the fire?"

"No, but we have yet to hear from Monsieur Adjani, his rent is long overdue."

CoverGirl went inside and had a quick look around. Everything was burned to a crisp.

"So what are the odds that Adjani turns up missing right before his office catches fire. It looks like someone was trying to cover their tracks," CoverGirl said. She carefully walked around a charred desk chair – almost slipping on the surrounding soot that caked the floor. "We've hit another dead end," said CoverGirl.

"Actually CoverGirl," Evrard replied," this is most encouraging. According to his file, Adjani was very good at what he did, he was a police detective before he retired," He also took a quick peek inside from the door, but did not go inside himself. "If someone went through such lengths to cover their tracks, it suggests that he was on the right trail."

"I'll buy that," CoverGirl said. She opened a nearby file cabinet, the papers inside were reduced to ash. "But the trail here has _gone_ _up in smoke,_ so to speak." She wiped the dirt from her hands on her dress as she walked out to join Evrard.

"Monsieur, where do you keep the mail for Mr. Adjani?" Evrard asked of the manager.

They were directed to the mail room and were granted access to Adjani's post office box. Evrard quickly thumbed through the stack of letters.

"What are you looking for Evrard?" CoverGirl asked.

"A man of Adjani's talent does not come cheap, there are expenses to be paid - expenses that can be tracked...Viola! His credit card statements," Evrard triumphantly handed her the envelopes.

"Gee, it's a good thing they didn't burn down the entire building," CoverGirl quipped.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

CoverGirl and Evrard left the office building with a renewed confidence. They finally had some solid leads. As they drove back to DGSE headquarters, she looked through the letters; it was a futile effort since she couldn't understand French. She was resolved not to let these letters out of her sight until she could get back with RoadBlock – although Evrard had been helpful, RoadBlock was the only person she fully trusted. She looked up from her papers after they came over a hill. She glanced at the tachometer and noticed that their speed was steadily increasing.

"You're taking this hill a little fast aren't you Evrard?"

"I think we have a problem, the brakes aren't working," he said stomping hard on the brake pedal.

"Did you try the parking brake?"

"Yes, no effect. I can cut the engine and we can coast down."

"If you cut the engine, you'll lose steering...There's an intersection coming up, blare the horn!"

BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEEEEEEEP!

The warning came in time. The oncoming cars yielded allowing Evrard to blow through the intersection safely.

"I have airbags, what if I steer the car into a building and try to scrape it along its side," he said.

"Are you kidding? This car is made out of tin foil, at this speed we wouldn't survive. You need to snake turn to slow us down...Watch out for that trolley!"

"I see him, hang on!"

Evrard cut the wheel hard to the left. They avoided the trolley, but banking at that speed caused the car to lean heavy on its right side. The car's inertia lifted the entire left side off of the ground. For one terrible moment it was engaged in a deadly balancing act. Thankfully, gravity brought the car back down on all 4 tires. Unfortunately, Evrard had to hit the gas to supply enough power to the tires in order to re-align the car. This caused them to descend even faster down the hill.

"That was too close!" she said in relief.

"There's too many obstacles in the road for a snake turn. If I turn too sharply we'll barrel roll."

"But we've got to slow down...wait a minute. We can shoot out the tires. The friction from the undercarriage should do the trick."

"Good idea. Shoot them _all_ out now!"

"No, you're going to need the front two to steer. We should only shoot the back tires."

"Well what are you waiting for? Do it."

"Okay here we go...Wait a minute! I just thought of a problem: as soon as I shoot one tire out, we're going to fishtail. We need to shoot them at the same time so we don't flip over. You're going to have to help me."

"I'm otherwise engaged mademoiselle!"

"I can't do it by myself; my arms are only _so_ long!"

"This car is 'tin foil' right? Shoot them from inside the cabin!"

"Okay, give me your gun."

"Hurry!" he said as he unholstered his weapon and handed it to her.

"Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

CoverGirl leaned precariously over her backrest to face the rear of the car. With a gun in each hand, she angled each arm in alignment with her best guess as to where each tire should be with respect to the interior of the cabin. She steadied herself and cleared her mind of all external distractions – focusing only on herself and the two rear tires as the vertices of a deadly triangle:

BLAM!BLAM!

The car shuddered then suddenly dropped. CoverGirl was relieved to see they were now leaving a shower of sparks in their wake as the car's undercarriage scraped along the roadway. The car was going noticeably slower by the time they reached the bottom of the hill.

"CoverGirl we've got another problem - I just lost steering, and we're about to smash head on into the side of that building!"

"And we're still going too fast! I have an idea hold on!"

In desperation, CoverGirl shot the front passenger tire on her side. As she hoped, the car teetered on its remaining tire and slowly started to veer toward the passenger side away from the perpendicular. They still hit the building, however instead of slamming into it head on, they ricocheted off like a billiard. The impact sent them in a violent spin that snapped off the remaining tire from the axle. Fortunately, this caused more friction as the entire undercarriage was now in contact with the street. The car, amid a torrent of sparks and fiberglass fragments, finally came to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Evrard and CoverGirl climbed out – they were shaken but glad to be alive.

"Are you okay?" asked Evrard.

"Yea. And you?"

"I'll live...if you'll excuse me; I'll be over there puking my guts out."

"Sure, have fun with that."

19th arrondissement – 1008 hrs.

RoadBlock and Métier arrived at the crime scene. In usual fashion, DGSE forensics agents were already on the scene, circumventing the local municipal authorities. The senior technician on site recognized Dr. Métier when he pulled up with RoadBlock. He went over to greet them.

"What have you found?" Métier asked.

"The authorities pulled the body out of the canal early this morning. He was killed with a single gunshot wound to the head – possibly a 9mm caliber. Time of death has not been determined yet. A red flag came through our department when he was identified as an Algerian national. We have confirmed his identity as a suspect on our terrorist watch-list."

"More than that," Métier said as he looked at a picture of the victim, "He is a cell leader – the same cell leader that was supposed to meet with the students the other night. What are your thoughts RoadBlock?"

"At first glance, I would say it looks like that maybe the Algerians are not involved in the murders at all since they are victims themselves."

"I would agree."

"But it raises a bigger question: assuming it was Cobra, why go through all the trouble."

"Maybe it wasn't Cobra, like you said there could be another player."

"But how do we know, it seems like we're going in circles."

"In such things RoadBlock, it is my experience that you hardly ever _know_ anything. All we can do is follow the evidence. Right now it still points to Cobra."

DGSE Headquarters – 1300 hrs

After a quick debriefing, CoverGirl and Evrard were ordered to report to the infirmary for an evaluation. She didn't understand what all the fuss was about, all she and Evrard suffered were minor cuts and bruises. When she came out, she saw RoadBlock was waiting in the hallway. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. She was touched by the look of concern he had on his face when she came out.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, it was no big deal."

"That's not what I heard. So what happened?"

"Someone cut the brake lines. It wasn't obvious though; they were frayed to make it look like normal wear-and-tear."

"I'm not liking this, this is the second time someone has tried to kill us in as many days."

"But now its time for _us_ to go on the offensive," she said handing him some envelopes.

"What's this?"

"Adjani's corporate credit card statements. If we find out where he's been spending his money, we find out where he's been."

"Good thinking, let's get to it."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Hours pass. RoadBlock and CoverGirl work frantically to reconstruct Adjani's investigation. After dozen's of phone calls and faxes made between them, it was apparent that the biggest challenge proved to be overcoming the endless red tape in dealing with bureaucrats. At the end of the second shift, they retired to the cafeteria for an evening repast.

"Mmm, this is good. What is it?" CoverGirl asked, before taking another bite of her dish.

"Pansette de Gerzat," RoadBlock replied, "basically it's Lamb."

"I have eaten better in the past 3 days than I have in the past 3 years. How do you do it not to get fat?"

"Its all about portion control," he said as he refilled their wine glasses. "That, and stomping a few snakes now and then."

She raised her wine glass to that before taking a sip, "Speaking of stomping snakes, what do we know so far?"

"We know that before his disappearance, Adjani visited a motel about 50 miles outside of town on the way to Orleans. Around the same time he requested an electricians report on a plot of land not far from the motel. Did we ever get a fax back on that report from the utility company?"

"Yes I have it right here," she pulled the fax out of a file folder in her briefcase, "they were required to bring the wiring up to spec before they could be added to the grid. And I think _you_ were going to check who _they_ were."

"Right. It was a private company but I wasn't able to find out the name. However, according to the regulatory agent I spoke to, that patch of land has been sold and resold over the years. Apparently, it was built on top of an ancient cistern and a lot of company's have tried to extract the water to resell it."

"Resell water?"

"Yea you know, 'natural bottled water' - it's a big fad nowadays."

"I see."

"Anyway, extracting the water is too expensive to make a profit so all the previous owners have gone out of business. And it looks like this latest owner is no exception. The paperwork on it hasn't moved for years."

"Man, talk about a cold lead."

"Yea, but if Adjani took the time to go there, then we should at least check it out."

"You're right, but let's wait till morning. I'm not too eager to get behind the wheel just yet. That reminds me, will we have a car by tomorrow?"

"Yea, they're going to drop it off at the hotel."

"Good, let's put it under your name this time."

"Sure, but why mine?"

"I don't think the rental agency is too fond of me, seeing as how I raped the last two cars I rode in."

Motel d'Leon – 1000 hrs

The next morning RoadBlock and CoverGirl set off on their fact-finding road-trip. They settled in a small rural town just off of Autoroute A71 roughly halfway between Paris and Orleans. They settled into the Motel d'Leon – a small privately owned inn headed by an elderly man who seemed very friendly. The old man remembered Adjani and arranged for them to stay in the same room. Once in the room, they looked for clues but found nothing in the way of new leads.

"The innkeeper was very chatty with you," she said, while fixing her hair in a mirror.

"Yea he was very friendly. I guess he doesn't get many patrons," he said, as he bent over and looked under the bed, "that would explain how he remembered that Adjani checked in here."

"Well if Adjani was here, he didn't leave anything behind."

"That's not too surprising," he got back up and sat on the bed, "I guess we should head over to the private land plot," he then pulled out a road map from his pocket and unfolded it in his lap.

"How far is it?" she said, as she sat down next to RoadBlock to examine the map.

"Just a few miles off road. Well within walking distance."

"You mean we're not driving? Why?"

"For one thing the road map doesn't show any access roads. Secondly, when I was talking to the old man about Adjani, he remembered him going out on foot after he checked in. If we're going to do this right, we might as well follow in his footsteps exactly."

"That old man sure is a nosy little busybody."

"It's not like there's anything else to do around here."

"I'm glad I at least brought my civvies this time."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

When RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived at the private land plot, they were surprised to see the primitive state of the land in terms of development. RoadBlock had to double check the map to make sure they were in the right place.

"Yea this is it," he said, putting the map away afterwards.

"Of all the godforsaken – there's nothing here!" She kicked over a nearby rock in frustration.

"It _has_ been a long time. Maybe they pulled out and cut their losses."

"I would hate to have driven all the way here and have nothing to show for it."

"We can give the area a quick sweep," he shielded his brow from the sun as he surveyed the land. His eyes eventually settled upon a small collapsed building in the distance. "Let's start over there," he said pointing at the edifice.

CoverGirl followed RoadBlock to the dilapidated structure. Under a pile of debris near one of the remaining stable walls, they found a service hatch that led underground. RoadBlock opened the hatch squatted next to the opening and looked inside.

"You're not thinking about climbing in there are you?" CoverGirl said. With trepidation she leaned over RoadBlock's shoulder from behind and peered into the darkness.

"You're the one that didn't want this to be a blank trip. Don't worry, I brought along some flashlights"

Having said that, he tossed her a flashlight and they descended down the hatch via a ladder. At the bottom of the shaft, they got on a catwalk that led to an open passage. The passage looked like it was part of larger circular corridor: it stretched on either side for as far as they could see and broke off into a number of smaller hallways.

"This is more like TunnelRat's gig," she said, looking around. Over the edge of a railing, she noticed a rusty generator that had fallen into disrepair. Every where she shone the light on the contraption she caught a glimpse of rodents and other vermin as they scurried away back into the darkness. "Eww, it looks like we're not the only ones down here. Will you take a look at all this junk; it has to be about 50 years old."

"Yea, old equipment but new wiring," he said, as he flashed his light on a nearby wall where some electrical conduits were bolted. He ran his hand along the length of the conduit. "Do you still have that wiring map from the electrician's report?"

"Yes here it is," she unfolded the paper and held it up to the light. "Well it certainly looks larger in here than it does on paper."

"It's my guess that we're here," RoadBlock said, pointing at a spot on the paper. "It doesn't look like there's anything interesting along the perimeter. I think we should go into one of these access corridors. We'll criss-cross the area a few times then call it quits."

"Fine by me," she said, as she put the map back in her pocket, "I don't mind the darkness, but this humidity is going to wreak havoc with my allergies."

"We _are _sitting on top of a cistern. It's probably fed by an underground river."

They followed the circular path and turned into one of the access corridors. CoverGirl took out a handkerchief and covered her nose to relieve the stench of mildew and vermin. The hallway echoed with a crunching sound as they walked over the algae-encrusted floor.

"They got it wired and plugged into the grid, so where's the light switch?" RoadBlock said.

"Maybe they haven't paid their electric bill."

"Hey, did we make a right and then a left back there? I'm a little disorientated."

"I think it was a left at the barrels of toxic waste, and a right at the rat droppings," she said as she hopped over particularly large puddle. "I just _had_ to wear my favorite boots today."

"Sorry. Let's just keep going straight. We're bound to hit the perimeter sooner or later."

"This labyrinth is certainly a perfect metaphor for our mission isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"They're both full of twists and turns that lead nowhere."

"I like to think we've made some progress - although I don't know what we're going to do if this trip doesn't pan out. Hey! I think I see daylight coming out from under that door up ahead. It must lead back outside."

"Good let's get out of here. To tell you the truth I'm tired of following all these dead ends – I'm starting to feel like the donkey led by a carrot stick. You know this mission is going to go nowhere if we can't even prove that Cobra still exists."

RoadBlock opened the rusty door, expecting to find the exit back to the surface. Instead He and CoverGirl found a large room filled with electronics. They were surprised to see that monitoring the equipment was a room full of Crimson Guard soldiers. For the first time in 2 years GIJOE and Cobra stood face-to-face. For what seemed like hours both parties looked at each other with apprehension – neither one knowing what to expect from the other.

"Excuse us, we have the wrong secret terrorists hideout," RoadBlock said. He calmly closed the door and barricaded it with his arm. "RUN!"

"Not without you!"

"One of us has to make it out of here to warn the others!"

She knew he was right, but that didn't make abandoning him any less painful. She ran back the way they came. She got halfway down the passage when the hallway lit up brightly and an alarm rang. As she came upon an intersection she saw shadows cast from 3 guardsmen coming up from around a corner. She broke into a full run and jumped into the air. Her timing was perfect - as one of the guards appeared, he met the full force of her flying kick. He slammed hard against the opposite wall and did not move.

She landed on her feet then immediately pounced after the second guard; she drove the spike of her heel into the pit of his stomach. It had enough penetration to knock the wind out of him and cause him to double over. She finished him off with an ax kick to the back of the head, breaking her heel off against his helmet.

She no longer had the advantage of surprise; the remaining guardsman charged so fast that she barely managed to sidestep his punch as it grazed her jaw. Enraged, he came at her again. She grabbed his arm and flipped him over her shoulder. However, he rolled with the attack, caught her on the hip and reversed the throw. She fell hard on her back and tried to recapture the air that left her lungs. Before she could even breathe again, the guardsman was already on top of her and had her pinned down to where she couldn't move. She kicked and screamed desperately to no avail. Suddenly she saw a massive hand slap around the grill of the guardsman's helmet. It was RoadBlock.

RoadBlock hoisted the guardsman to his feet by the rim of his helmet and slammed him back down with a devastating hammer-fist to the face. By the time CoverGirl got back up, there were guardsmen in front of them and behind them. RoadBlock picked up the unconscious guardsman at his feet and plowed a path through the oncoming enemy.

During the scuffle, CoverGirl was able to slip by, but before she could reach the exit, someone grabbed her at the waist and pinned her against the wall with one hand: it was Mr. Aloof. CoverGirl pulled out her .45, but Mr. Aloof snatched it from her and, in a frightening display of strength, crushed the barrel between his fingers before discarding the mangled pistol to the ground. All CoverGirl could do was look on helplessly as more and more guardsmen came upon RoadBlock.

First five, then eight, then ten guardsmen joined the fray. There was no room to maneuver in the narrow passageway so winning this fight was a matter of simple brute strength. The only advantage RoadBlock could count on is that there was no need for precision: it was hard not to throw a punch without hitting someone. Four guardsmen managed to break through his defenses and pile on top of him. RoadBlock was no stranger to ground fighting so, as they were kicking him, he coiled his body into a ball and used this time to rest as he fended off the attacks. He scanned the area looking for CoverGirl – hoping she was able to get away. He was horrified to see she had been captured. He exploded to his feet, sending 3 of his attackers flying. He no longer had the luxury of strategy – he had to get over to her fast. He suddenly felt a searing pain rip through his arm: someone shot him with a TASER. He pulled out the wire and stuck it into the neck of the remaining guardsman who still managed to retain a hold on to his leg. His limbs where now completely unfettered, but before he could do anything, he was suddenly hit with 3 more TASER shots. RoadBlock succumbed and fell to the ground – his body shaking violently in convulsions.

End Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Chapter 5

Crimson Guard Stronghold – ???? Hrs

RoadBlock's journey back to consciousness was slow and painful. When he was finally self aware, he started to open his eyes, but quickly shut them because of the bright light that shone overhead. He surmised that he was on the ground lying on his back. He started to rise, however his muscles were still flaccid from electrical shock. Moreover, his head was nestled into something that was warm and soft, so he gave in and allowed himself that comfort. He squinted until his eyes adjusted to the light. His vision was blurry at first, but it eventually came into focus on a familiar face. His head was resting on CoverGirl's lap; when she noticed that he was awake, she looked down at him as he looked up at her. Her hair dangled to where it brushed against his cheek. The way she was stroking his forehead with her fingertips was very soothing to him. He reached over to touch her but something stopped him. He looked to see that both of this arms where chained at the wrist – a stark reminder that they where now prisoners. With a groan, he forced himself to sit upright.

"Are you okay? You had me worried there for a second," CoverGirl said.

"Yea, actually I haven't slept this good since we left the States," RoadBlock said rubbing the back of his head. As he took a look around, he noticed that they were locked in a small musty cell illuminated by a single light in the ceiling high above. The only way out was through a thick rusted metal door. The surrounding masonry was riddled with mildew and slime. RoadBlock tested the chains around his wrists – they were solid stainless steel with each arm bound by a separate chain that was bolted to iron moors. The moors themselves were roughly waist-height from the floor. There was some slack in the chains that allowed for limited movement, but for the most part they were bound to the wall. He saw that CoverGirl was similarly shackled. "At least they spared no expense on the handcuffs. Where are we?"

"Same place, just further underground."

"Well at least we know why Adjani ordered the electrician report."

"Yeah, I was pondering that as well. It does seem unusual to run power to an undeveloped land plot."

"That should've been a red flag. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it before."

"Hindsight is 20/20 RoadBlock. Besides, they hid it exceptionally well in a mountain of paperwork and red tape."

"It _is_ odd that Cobra could run an operation out here for so long without anyone noticing."

"Well I took in as much as I could on the trip down here. From the state of disrepair and the general disorganization, I'd say that this base its not _permanently_ manned. A _way station_ perhaps?"

"I would tend to agree with you, did you notice how surprised the guards were when we entered the command center? They obviously haven't bothered to set up any kind of surveillance; otherwise we wouldn't have been able to waltz right up in here."

They heard the lock on the door disengage. The door swung open; two crimson guardsmen entered. One carried a TASER and the other carried a tray with 2 bowls. RoadBlock and CoverGirl stood up to face them. The first guardsman shot RoadBlock with his TASER. RoadBlock, presumably still weakened from his first shock session, immediately fell to the ground in a seizure.

CoverGirl took up the slack in her chains, reaching over as far as she could with her foot, and kicked the TASER wire out of him. The first guardsman charged her with fist raised. She didn't have time to retreat so she started to get her guard up to block. However, she didn't have enough slack in the chains to raise her arms either. Unprotected, she took the full brunt of the punch. She staggered backwards, as everything began to go dark, and then slumped to the ground.

RoadBlock reached for the guard's throat cursing him. His arms moved as though he were pushing through molasses; his legs dragged as if they were bound by lead weights. The guardsmen remained just out of reach, taunting him. He shot RoadBlock with his TASER again, sending him writhing on the floor.

"This is for my mates that you sent to the infirmary," the guardsman said.

RoadBlock screamed as his body bucked uncontrollably. Apparently satisfied, the first guardsman withdrew the TASER and walked out. The remaining guardsman dropped the tray to the ground and left as well.

"Bon appetite JOE," he said before closing the door behind him.

The contents of the bowls spilled onto the ground – what was supposed to be their 'food' looked more like something that should have been flushed down a toilet. The roaches on the tray, having eaten their fill, scurried to hide in the nearest available crack in the floor.

RoadBlock opened his eyes and launched to his feet. Although it was painful, much of his response to the TASER shots were theatrics put on for the guardsman's benefit. He knew that, at their core all, Cobra's are sadists and the guards would not have left until they were sure that he was sufficiently tortured. He was going to need all his energy to escape and it would not serve him or CoverGirl if he pushed himself past his pain threshold in some misguided act of defiance. To engage in such heroics now would have been prideful and stupid. The first order of business was to care for his injured teammate. The shackles prohibited touching her with both hands so he took up as much slack as he could with his left arm and leaned over her as far as he could. He then took her with his right – paying special attention to her head and neck as he cradled her in his chest. He felt her scalp for contusions; there was already a bruise forming on her cheek where the guardsman hit her. He brushed the dirt and lichen from her face and hair. Her body was tense, her breathing was shallow, and her eyelids fluttered as her eyeballs rolled up into their sockets – she was fighting for consciousness. RoadBlock whispered her name, her real name, into her ear and her body immediately relaxed in his embrace.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

_THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP_

The rhythmic cadence was comforting to CoverGirl's ears. It was steady, it was warm, it was powerful: she felt safe. She kicked and swam hard to break the surface of her consciousness. When she awoke, she bolted upright with a gasp. She came to find that she was leaning on RoadBlock, who had his back against the wall and his arm draped around her for support. When she got her bearings about her, RoadBlock helped her sit up.

"I uh...thanks," she said.

"You're welcome."

She winced as she rubbed the spot on her cheek where the guardsman hit her. It was numb in the center, but sore around the edges. She looked at RoadBlock and her expression became sullen. He was seated with his left arm precariously stretched as he pulled against the chain. The arm was completely supinated at the shoulder. The veins bulged as they struggled against gravity to deliver blood to the oxygen-starved muscles. She surmised that she must have been out for a while, and during that time RoadBlock put her comfort ahead his own. She turned away from him to hide her angst.

Upon seeing her expression, he tried to put her at ease by saying, "nothing like a good stretch to loosen you up." He released the tension in his arm and massaged the sore muscles.

Their attention was turned toward the door as the lock was disengaged. Inside walked a Tele-viper followed by the Crimson Guard Commander:

"Tomax!" RoadBlock exclaimed.

Upon seeing RoadBlock, Tomax squinted and put his index finger to his mouth – tapping his lips with his finger as if trying to recall a name.

The Tele-viper, perceiving Tomax's memory struggle, interjected, "Hinton, Marvin...Primary Military Operational Specialty: Heavy Machine Gunner...Operative Name: RoadBlock."

"That's right," Tomax said, snapping his fingers. "RoadBlock." He looked over to CoverGirl, "Who's the girl?"

"Accessing facial recognition database...Match found: O'Hara, Shana...Primary Military Operational Specialty: Counter-Intelligence...Operative Name: Scar--"

"I am not Scarlet you moron!" CoverGirl said. At this point a 3rd figure entered the room.

"That is CoverGirl luv," said Zarana, correcting the Tele-viper. "She's a washed-up model turned mechanic."

As she came further in the room, CoverGirl noticed she walked with a slight limp.

"I see time hasn't improved your fashion sense Zarana," CoverGirl said. "How's the shin?"

"I imagine its doin' about the same as your jaw dearie," Zarana replied. She stood next to Tomax, taking his arm, and kissing his cheek.

"You must forgive the accommodations," Tomax said, "this place used to be a safe house for the French resistance during World War 2 because of its strategic location and ample water supply. We only have one true holding cell and it's taken at the moment."

"I take it that you're holding Adjani prisoner as well? What have you done to him?" RoadBlock said.

"You mean the private investigator? Let's just say the interrogator got carried away and made a mess of things."

"Is that supposed to scare us?"

"Yes."

CoverGirl interjected, "Why don't I save us all some time here Xamot..."

"That's Tomax..."

"Whatever. We all know this is the part where you threaten us with bodily harm if we don't tell you everything we know. Correct?"

"Correct."

"In which case, we'll shoot back with some witty repartee like...Help me out here RoadBlock."

RoadBlock shrugged his shoulders, "...I got nothin'."

"The difference here JOE," Tomax said, "is by the time we're done with you, you'll be begging to tell us at what age you stopped wetting the bed."

Having said that, Tomax, Zarana, and the Tele-viper leave the room.

"How could you do that?" CoverGirl said.

"Do what?" RoadBlock replied.

"You let him have the last word. You _never_ let the bad guy have the last word – especially if it's a funny."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to remember that the _next_ time we stumble upon a secret terrorist cell hideout." RoadBlock placed both feet against the wall and pushed hard. On pure muscle-power he was standing perpendicular to the wall and parallel to the floor.

"RoadBlock what are you doing?"

"One more zap of that TASER and I won't have the strength to try this later."

"RoadBlock, you can't break those chains."

"The chains may be unbreakable, but look at the moors they're attached to. Decades of oxidation from the humidity has made the iron and surrounding concrete brittle. Do you remember what I told you back in the States the night before we left?"

"Yeah, I take it that this is the part were we, 'pull it out of the fire at the last minute'?"

RoadBlock arched his back and bucked as hard as he could against the wall. Bone and sinew strained against steel. Steel strained against iron and concrete. Each gave as much ground as they were willing to give: something, or someone, had to break.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"I swear Tomax, your goons are worse than the Dreadnocks," Zarana said.

"Well my dear, they need an outlet after having been inactive for so long," Tomax replied.

They made their way to the infirmary where a Medi-viper was treating a number of guards for severe injuries.

"When you're done here, see to our guests," Tomax said to the Medi-viper. "This time _no_ summary executions without my approval, is that understood?"

"Perfectly," the Medi-viper replied.

"You can do whatever you want to the girl, but I want the man left relatively unharmed. He will make an excellent candidate for the MAMBA program."

"Thank-you sir," the Medi-viper said, "I'll be sure to take my time."

"Sicko pervert!" Zarana said as she walked away with Tomax.

"Careful dear," Tomax said. He held the infirmary door open for her and they left the room, "One day he might have to save your life on the battle field."

"I'll slit my wrists first luv," Zarana said with a saccharine smile.

"Bitch," the Medi-viper said under his breath once Tomax and Zarana were out of earshot. He couldn't imagine what Tomax saw in her; she was too disrespectful of male authority. It went against the natural order of things. After all, men are the penetrators and women are the receptors. He would never tolerate such behavior from his girlfriends – although his girlfriends never survived the first date. He opened his special _medical_ kit to examine the instruments inside. Everything had to be in its proper place for his special guests. When he was satisfied, he closed the kit and carried it with him out of the infirmary. He was escorted to the holding cell by a single guardsman; it was obvious that Tomax didn't trust him to restrain himself. His professionalism was never questioned before when the Crimson Guard Commanders were _together_ - before that pink-haired hillbilly came between them. It just goes to show what happens when you give a woman a little authority. No wonder the organization is in jeopardy - the two pillars of the Crimson Guard are too busy fighting over a _woman_ of all things. If she ever comes across his table, he'll have to arrange for an 'accident' – something subtle of course.

He and his escort entered the cell holding RoadBlock and CoverGirl. He placed his _medical_ bag on a table near the door and unraveled the contents. He reached in and systematically pulled out each instrument, holding it up so the light would gleam off of the silver finish. Each time he held up a scalpel, he eyed CoverGirl in the reflective surface. Her reactions were better than foreplay. He carefully arranged them on the table on top of a sterile pad, then turned to the prisoners.

"Let's begin," he said.

The guardsman shot RoadBlock with his TASER; sending him to the ground in a fit. The Medi-viper approached CoverGirl, being sure to stay well out of RoadBlock's reach. He grabbed her face at the jawline; she struggled at first, but stopped resisting once he tightened his grip causing her to whimper in pain.

"My, you _are_ a pretty one," the Medi-viper said. He examined the bruise on her face, "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of ruining this face."

He dug his thumb into her bruise. CoverGirl cried out for mercy; her pleading diverted the attention of the guardsman managing RoadBlock's TASER. The Guardsman turned to look at her – which was the _cue_ RoadBlock was waiting for. He pulled out the TASER wire and sprinted towards the Guardsman, dragging his chains behind him. The Guardsman froze in shock as RoadBlock whipped his chains around. The chains cut the air with a hiss; each end having a concrete bludgeon attached. Before the Guardsman could draw his gun, two wrecking balls of concrete smashed simultaneously on both sides his helmet, rattling the skull inside.

The Medi-viper turned to the source of the noise and saw RoadBlock standing over his unconscious escort. Before he could scream for help, CoverGirl kneed him in the groin. He grabbed his crotch and doubled over in pain, to make matters worse on his way down his jaw met CoverGirl's other knee on its way up. He fell to his back, rolling on the floor in agony. His screams were replaced by a gurgling sound – his jaw had been dislocated.

"Dang girl," RoadBlock said. "Why do you females always have to go for the nuts?"

"I don't like playing the part of the 'damsel in distress' – even if it's just acting. I had to take it out on somebody. Besides I get the feeling he deserved it more than most," she said, kicking him again on the ground. The Medi-viper fainted from the pain.

"What a poser, he screamed like a _girl,_" RoadBlock said.

"HEY!"

"Sorry."

He kneeled over the guard and searched his pockets. He took out the keys and walked over to CoverGirl. He unlocked her handcuffs. Likewise, she did the same for him. She gasped as she examined the lacerations on RoadBlock's wrists from where the chains dug into his flesh.

"Oh my God, RoadBlock. You need stitches," she said.

"It's just a few scratches."

"Stop being macho," she said. She went to the medical bag and retrieved some iodine and gauze. She walked back – giving the Medi-viper another kick on the way for good measure - and treated RoadBlock's wounds. "This should at least keep it from getting infected."

"Good as new. So what's the plan?"

"How about we get the hell outta here."

"Yes ma'am," RoadBlock said in agreement.

RoadBlock undressed the Medi-viper and gave the clothes to CoverGirl. As for himself, he dressed in the Crimson Guardsman's uniform. They left the cell and proceeded to the upper levels.

"Aargh!"

"What is it?"

"This uniform is too tight."

"Look at me. I'm _swimming_ in these pants and you don't see me complaining."

"I don't know how these guys breathe in these things. And the inside of this helmet smells like ass!"

"I swear RoadBlock; sometimes you're worse than a chick."

"I guess it could be worse...at least it's not my Army Greens."

"Do you think we're going to be able to pull this off?"

"Yea, as long as no one looks too closely. Which means _you_ have to stop walking like that."

"I can't help it, I have hips!"

When they arrived at the upper level, they stopped talking and moved quietly through the corridors. CoverGirl walked behind RoadBlock and kept her medical bag in front of her to hide her gait. Upon rounding a corner, RoadBlock suddenly stopped, causing CoverGirl to almost bump into him. He continued and she resumed following him; when she rounded the corner after him, she saw what gave him pause: Mr. Aloof was walking in their direction. CoverGirl shrank behind RoadBlock as they approached the behemoth. When they passed, she felt a chill go down her spine as the ground vibrated with each step he took. She let out an audible sigh of relief when he disappeared down the way. When they rounded another corner, a Tele-viper crossed their path and entered a room across the hall. RoadBlock followed him, but stopped short of entering; instead he looked up at the ceiling and back-tracked to an access panel.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"That's the Tele-viper that was with Tomax."

"So?"

"This may be our only chance to get some _real_ intel."

"How are we going to do that, just walk in there?"

"No, that's too risky," he said as he removed the access panel.

"How are you going to fit in there? It's too small."

"For _me_ it is."

"Great," she said with her hands on her hips. She crawled into duct and RoadBlock put the panel back in place," you better be here when I get back!"

"This should lead to an air duct in the ceiling above, good luck."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

It was a tight fit between the crawlspace of the service hatch. CoverGirl inched her way patiently until she got to the adjoining air duct where it fanned out, giving her more room. Before reaching the air grate leading to the communication room, she gave pause as she came across a brick of C-4 in her path. She examined it briefly: it was a 10-pound brick set with a remote wireless detonator. It was most likely put in place as part of some kind of self-destruct protocol. She had been around C-4 enough times to know that it was relatively safe. She saw no reason to abort, so she continued on – giving the C-4 a wide berth. She made her way to the air grate leading into the communications room. Between the flaps of the grate, she could see the Tele-viper jacked into a display terminal. Tomax and Zarana were talking to a third party on the screen who she could not see from her vantage point, but whose deep-voice she recognized immediately.

"Communications link established," the Tele-viper reported.

"Report," Destro said – his voice thundered over the comm-link.

"Don't bark orders at me Destro," Tomax said in an annoyed tone. "I'm keeping you informed as a _courtesy_."

"Then I _courteously_ ask you to: Report!"

"We currently have two members of the GI JOE team in custody. It seems that my coming here may have been premature."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because they sent a chef and a mechanic. The private investigator probably knew more than they did – which is next to nothing."

"It has been my experience to never dismiss GI JOE so lightly."

"It has been _mine_ as well, which is why we are questioning them at this very moment."

"Good. How has the MAMBA performed in the field?"

"Better than expected. We've acquired some real-time battle data against the JOEs: his speed, strength, and stamina are well above peak-human. Outfitting him with the new body armor alloys has made him nigh invulnerable."

"Excellent."

"I think one of the JOEs would make a worthy test candidate."

"Is that wise?"

"Don't worry, the process removes all vestiges of free will. He'll be made sufficiently pliable with the new technologies we've acquired."

"Just don't loose sight of the ultimate goal of the MAMBA project. We can't afford to spend millions using trial-and-error."

"Whew, is it me or did it get hot in here all of a sudden," Zarana said as she wiped the sweat from her brow. She checked the environmental controls then put her hand up to the air vent. "I don't feel any air coming out of there."

In a panic, CoverGirl crawled back the way she came as quietly as she could. Zarana dragged a crate over to the air vent. She stood on the crate, allowing her to reach the vent. Before she removed the grate, however, an alarm sounded all over the complex.

"Is something wrong?" Destro asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Do you think the JOEs escaped?" Zarana said.

"Impossible," Tomax replied. "Give me a SITREP now!" he said to the Tele-viper.

"Reports are coming in from our forward positions," the Tele-viper replied. "French special forces have penetrated the complex."

"It appears your problems aren't over yet," Destro commented.

Tomax gave the 'kill' sign to end the transmission, "stay here and coordinate our forces, try to jam their comm-links," he said. He turned to Zarana and took her by the arm, "come my dear, such matters are left best to underlings."

Tomax and Zarana left the room, much to the relief of CoverGirl.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

CoverGirl made her way back to the access panel. She found RoadBlock standing guard outside. She kicked the panel open and joined him in the hall. She could hear the faint sound of gunfire and explosions coming from the ceiling overhead.

"Is that alarm for us?" RoadBlock said.

"No, I think the Action Team is here."

"Talk about good timing. Did you overhear anything?"

"I'll tell you on the way out of here. I don't want to get caught in a cross-fire."

CoverGirl ran through the corridors with RoadBlock behind her. Relying on her memory, they were able to find the stairs leading to the next level up. The stairs between floors was connected by a narrow catwalk. The echoes of gun fire could be heard high overhead. CoverGirl looked down over the railing: it was pitch black.

The catwalk led to the large circular corridor where they started. All they had to do was follow the perimeter to the service hatch. Suddenly they were met with a hail of gunfire. RoadBlock grabbed CoverGirl, jerking her so hard that her hair fell out of her helmet. They took cover in an adjacent corridor.

"Who's shooting at us?" she said

"RoadBlock peeked around the corner, then immediately drew his head back as bullets ricocheted against the wall.

"Its friendlies, we can't fire back," he said.

"Let's tell them that we're JOEs."

"Be my guest."

Pinned down, they were forced to go back the way they came. When they got to the catwalk, they were met by a squad of Crimson Guard troopers followed by Mr. Aloof. The troopers passed them on the catwalk to engage the French military forces. They continued along the catwalk and passed Mr. Aloof. They were about to step off the catwalk, when CoverGirl let out a shriek as Mr. Aloof grabbed her by the hair. Mr. Aloof dragged her along kicking and screaming.

RoadBlock hit Aloof's forearm with his rifle butt causing him to release her. Aloof swatted the rifle out of RoadBlock's hands, picked him up, and threw him to the other side of the catwalk. RoadBlock landed hard on his back, he grabbed the railing to keep from falling over the side. It felt like his wrists were on fire as the wounds opened up again. He started to see flecks of crimson appear through his bandages.

Meanwhile, CoverGirl recovered the rifle and unloaded the entire clip into Aloof. After she was out, she retreated to a corner but Aloof followed her and cut her off. RoadBlock came from behind and smashed his shoulder into Aloof to pin him against the wall. Aloof pushed off the wall and sent them both stumbling backwards. RoadBlock regained his balance, grabbed Aloof and hip-tossed him over the railing. However, Aloof managed to hold onto RoadBlock's lapel and they both fell over the side. CoverGirl ran to the ledge and searched the darkness – there was no sign of either of them.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

RoadBlock splashed into the waters far below the catwalk. The thick leather of the Crimson Guard's uniform offered some protection, but it still felt like slamming into a brick wall. Luckily, the helmet he wore had inlets that automatically closed, presumably as a defense for chemical attacks, but it worked just as well for water. The self contained breathing apparatus inside had enough air for a few minutes – plenty of time for him to get a second wind and swim back to the surface. When he broke the surface, he swam for a ledge that led to a tunnel carved out in the rock. There was no light, but the night vision in his helmet helped him to negotiate the path. Although RoadBlock hated Cobra, he was always impressed with their level of technology. He came across a maintenance hatch and went inside, ending up were he started on the level containing the holding cells. At least he would be able to retrace his steps and maybe find CoverGirl on the way.

As he made his way to the level entrance, he could still hear the sound of gunfire – although it was fainter because he was deeper underground. He smirked as he passed the prison that he once occupied; the guards that he and CoverGirl overpowered had since reawakened and were banging on the cell door. He doubted if anyone would come down to let them out anytime soon.

Once he left the area of the holding cells, it was deathly silent. The corridors leading to the stairs were housed in thick concrete so not even the sounds of the battle above could filter through. The only sounds that accompanied him were the echoes of his footsteps as he walked. When he came to a fork in the hallway he stopped. As he tried to remember whether to make a left or a right, he noticed that he still heard the echo of footsteps. Obviously, he wasn't the only person on his way to the floors above. Moreover, the footsteps were louder than his own, implying that the person casting them was considerably larger than he was. Of course there was only one person it could be, after all if he survived the fall, it was reasonable to assume that Mr. Aloof had also.

The time for running was over; this _thing_ was relentless and would never stop hunting them. But if he is going to face him, it shouldn't be in these narrow corridors. He remembered that right before the stairs there was an antechamber – that should give him the room he needs. He decided that he would make his stand there, so he continued on.

Once he made it to the antechamber, he walked around to get a feel of the room, looking for slippery spots and other such perils. He took off his jacket so his movements could be as free as possible. He removed his helmet to maximize his field of vision. He readied himself mentally for battle: this was not one of Cobra's low-rent mercs that he could wipe his butt with any day of the week; rather this could very well be the fight of his life. If he was going to survive, he would have to flip off that switch that all civilized men have in their brain that keeps the savage side of human nature in check. Because of the way he was raised, he was always careful when he used his strength in such a base fashion for fear of hurting others – even on the battlefield. Such humanity would not serve him here against an enemy who was significantly stronger. His only regret was that he didn't have a weapon: or did he? The thick leather jacket, wrapped around his arm, would make a decent shield. The helmet, cupped over his fist, could double as a bludgeon.

When Mr. Aloof arrived, he found RoadBlock standing in the middle of the antechamber. Aloof stopped, regarding him for a moment, then continued walking toward him.

RoadBlock decided to set the pace of the fight and came at him with his helmet swinging. The hits he landed were solid, but merely bounced of Aloof's body armor. He had to change his target. He made a feint to the abdomen, then redirected the attack to the face. The sound of the blow echoed through the room. The force caused Aloof to take a step backward. It hurt him, but not enough. RoadBlock followed up with another strike, but Aloof caught the helmet in his hand.

The two men stood there – neither one giving up ground. Aloof tightened his grip on the helmet until it cracked like an eggshell. Pieces of the helmet where scattered to the ground. The only remnants left were a single shard that remained in RoadBlock hand.

RoadBlock gripped the shard tightly between his fingers; he would have preferred it to be his _Ma Deuce_, or even his pistol. However, he was a soldier long enough to know that battlefield conditions were hardly ever ideal. At least the shard he had in his hand was hard and had a cutting surface. The combatants circled each other looking for an opening – a weakness. RoadBlock decided to scale down the pace of the fight by refusing to make the first move; after all there was no reason to rush just yet.

Aloof attacked first with a punch to the face. RoadBlock deftly avoided it and countered with an elbow to the ribs of the exposed side – it was like hitting sheet metal. Rather than following it up with a combination, he elected to step back to a safe distance. He surmised that this attack, although strong, was phony and designed to bait him into making another mistake.

Aloof rushed him again, this time the attack was committed. RoadBlock deflected the hail of blows, but each block reminded him of the lacerations on his wrists. He was forced to change tactics: using speed to evade the flurry of punches. As each punch passed dangerously close, RoadBlock got a sense of the sheer power put behind every one of the lethal blows.

He was not going to win this fight defensively. The only effective attack he has landed so far was the strike to the face. As a result, his strategy was simple: get to the head. The head is a weak spot of arteries and nerve clusters, where life bubbled close the surface. A well placed strike there would give him the stopping power he needed. There was only one problem: the head is a highly mobile target that is easily defensible. To get to it, he would have to neutralize his enemy's defenses: the shard he held in his hand was the key.

After Aloof threw another punch, RoadBlock ducked and drove the shard between a gap in the armor searching for the subclavian artery deep into the armpit. He was rewarded for his assault by a solid backfist to the head. He was able to turn into it, thus lessening the force of the blow; however he was sent reeling backward into a wall.

Pressing the advantage, Aloof leapt towards RoadBlock with a flying kick. RoadBlock barely regained his balance in time to twist his body out of the way. The kick narrowly missed his chest; instead it pummeled the wall behind him with the force of a sledgehammer. RoadBlock could feel the wall reverberate against his back from the shockwaves.

Fortunately, the power put into such a kick left Aloof overextended and off balance, with RoadBlock positioned under his leg. RoadBlock plunged the shard as hard as he could into the inner thigh – it was like pushing through steel wool as the shard penetrated flesh and muscle. For the first time, Aloof roared in pain. However, RoadBlock paid a price as well: he sprained his wrist and was forced to drop his weapon.

With his other hand wrapped in the jacket, he couldn't waste precious time trying to retrieve the shard. That didn't matter because he got the opening he was looking for. With his good arm, he threw an uppercut that connected square on the jaw. Aloof stumbled backwards; the time for pugilistic elegance was over. From now on it was a street fight and RoadBlock held nothing back. Only adrenaline – sweet adrenaline – allowed him to push through the pain in his wrists.

However, in time his adrenaline ran out and fatigue began to take its toll on RoadBlock. He didn't realize, until now, how much the TASER shots had weakened him. It felt like his heart was about to burst; he had to slow down or drop from exhaustion. He hesitated, his chest heaving; what little wind he had left was evicted by a punch that Aloof slipped into his midsection.

RoadBlock retreated to the other side of the room, all the while grabbing his belly. His vision blurring, he willed himself to stay conscious. His reserves were depleted, he saw that Aloof was still going strong – or so it seemed at first.

He noticed that Aloof walked toward him with a stagger. Moreover, the arm where he stabbed him was dripping blood. Maybe this was the opportunity he needed: muscles deprived of oxygen become lethargic, and if the blood loss in the arm was significant, it wouldn't be able to move fast enough to defend the head.

He quickly put together a plan of attack, however in order for it to work; he would have to bait Aloof into delivering a killing blow. He exaggerated his fatigue by slumping to his hands and knees and pretending to faint. Actually, he didn't have to exaggerate much; once he allowed himself to relax, his muscles became flaccid again and did not want to obey his commands. He gave in to his exhaustion for the moment and concentrated instead on gathering his strength. He had to breathe to get his body out of oxygen debt. He remained completely still so the heart could do its job. The beating in his chest was so loud he almost didn't notice when Aloof was standing over him with both fists raised overhead, ready to give the _coup de grace_.

At the last possible second, RoadBlock rolled to the side of Aloof's bloodied arm as the fists came crashing down. At the end of human strength, he leapt into the air directly above Aloof's exposed head. He channeled his entire 225 lb. frame through his elbow into Aloof's temple. Bone grinded against bone as his skull fought against the force. The skull held – but the neck did not. Mr. Aloof fell to the floor; his body twitched, then it was still.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

CoverGirl retreated to the level below. She couldn't escape, but she couldn't go back the way she came either. The only option was to avoid contact with both sides and try to find RoadBlock – assuming he survived. She hid behind a niche in the wall as a squad of Crimson guardsmen marched past. When it was clear she resumed to the next level down, moving as far away from the sounds of battle as possible. When she passed a utility closet, the door suddenly opened and someone pulled her in. Before she could scream, a hand clasped over her mouth. She was about fight back when she recognized the voice of her captor.

"It's me Mademoiselle."

"Evrard?" She turned around and indeed it was agent Evrard dressed in Action Team tactical gear. Relieved, she hugged him. "How did you know it was me?"

"If more Medi-vipers walked like you, I would join Cobra myself."

"I see," CoverGirl said blushing. "How did you find us?"

"After our 'car accident', I figured I should keep a closer eye on you. When you did not check in, we tracked you car to the motel and followed your tracks to this installation."

"I'd never thought I'd say this, but thanks for stalking me," she said with a smirk. "So what's the plan? Where's the rest of your team?"

"I separated from them in order to flank Cobra. We don't have much time, so we need to move now."

"What about RoadBlock? He's still out there."

"All in due time. He will have to fend for himself for now."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After RoadBlock recovered from the battle, he retraced his steps back to the communication bunker. He had to get a message out in order to coordinate with the Action Team. He wasn't privy to the DGSE's command frequencies, but he did know how to contact GIJOE. When he entered the room, the Tele-viper was busy at a computer terminal so he didn't notice him at first. When he did finally look over to RoadBlock, the word 'INTRUDER' flashed across his HUD: RoadBlock forgot he no longer had his helmet to conceal his face.

The Tele-viper rushed him, but RoadBlock was not in the best of moods, so he probably kicked him harder that he intended when his foot smashed the Tele-viper's HUD. And he would most likely later regret stomping on the Tele-viper's wrist as he reached for a silent alarm – breaking it in the process. But he would most definitely feel guilty tomorrow for picking him up afterward and throwing him in to a nearby crate, thus reducing it to splinters.

RoadBlock accessed the communication terminal and tapped into GI JOE's satellite feed.

DialTone immediately broke into the feed, "This is a restricted frequency, you are in violation of United States Federal law..."

"DialTone, this is Staff Sgt. Marvin Hinton. Pass code: YO JOE VICTOR FOX-TROT 547"

"RoadBlock! Where have you been? Are you alright?"

"I'm right in the middle of snake central. I need you to get a message to Dr. Métier at French intelligence..."

"Oh right, you wouldn't know...Dr. Métier is in custody. Agent Evrard is in charge now."

"DialTone, tell me _exactly_ what happened."

"When you didn't check in, Evrard contacted us. He started an investigation and in the process found some Cobra paraphernalia at Dr. Métier's residence. He's currently leading a strike team to rescue you."

"Yeah, by the sound of things they're here, but its total FUBAR. Are you still in contact with the strike team?"

"No, they've gone dark."

"I need you to get on the horn with the Director, CoverGirl and I are in extreme danger."

"What, you mean more than you already are now?!"

"Yes...It's not Métier."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

CoverGirl followed Evrard through the corridors of what appeared to be the command bunkers. She was impressed by how quickly and efficiently he moved. They haven't met any resistance yet, although she considered that most of them were engaged with the rest of the Action Team. They ducked into a larger dimly-lit room that looked like a receiving area.

"We have to make a stop here then we will rejoin the others to find RoadBlock. I need you to act as lookout," he whispered.

"If I'm going to cover you, I need ammo – this AK I've been carrying around is out," she said.

"Of course," Evrard said, eyeing her warily. He checked the clip of his FAMAS then discarded it, he replaced it with a fresh clip from his pack, then handed her his rifle.

CoverGirl nodded and stood by the entrance. She saw Evrard remove an object from his backpack as he walked off. When he came back, she noticed that he flipped a switch on a small device before putting it in his pocket.

"What is that?"

"No time to explain. We should go."

Ignoring him, she walked to the spot where he was working. Her eyes widened at what she saw: a 10 pound brick of C-4 wired with a remote detonator – the method of wiring on the device looked familiar.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"It is just a contingency. The hatch on the other side of that wall is the most likely route of escape. It's just to insure that Cobra can't get away while we pinch them off."

CoverGirl walked back to Evrard. Instead of joining him, however, she hauled off and punched him in the face. He fell to the ground rubbing his jaw.

"Just what the hell is French intelligence trying to pull here Evrard?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I saw other charges just like this planted in the ventilation system by the communications bunker. I'm willing to bet there are others scattered strategically around the base. This isn't a rescue mission; you're here to blow this all up!"

"If you had the opportunity to take out the Crimson Guard in one clean strike, wouldn't you take advantage of that?"

"That's not the point Evrard..." She suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened when she came to a horrible realization. A chill went through her body as the blood left her extremities. Her heart raced and pounded so hard she thought it was going to beat out of her chest. "To take out a facility of this size using C-4 ordnance would take days to plan. You would have to know the layout - especially to get around undetected. You've been here before."

"Finally putting it together are you?"

CoverGirl immediately raised her weapon and pointed it at Evrard. Evrard pulled out his backup pistol and did the same to CoverGirl; the two were at a stand-off.

"Oh my God...Oh my God...You're a frikkin' Siegie."

"I was wondering if you would ever catch on."

"It was _your_ dish that was poisoned at the restaurant...The brake lines on _your_ car were cut...They weren't trying to kill JOE's, they were trying to kill _you_!"

"Clever girl."

"You were going to walk out of that hatch and bring this whole facility down on everyone. Why?"

"I don't think this is the time or place Mademoiselle."

"We're going to make time Evrard! Why all these games? Is this some kind of Crimson Guard civil war?"

"Not so much a 'civil war' as it is 'going on strike'."

"I don't understand."

"The fall of CobraLa, left Cobra in shambles. Reports started to trickle here and there that everyone in the upper ranks was dead. As time passed, it seemed that those reports were true; there had been no official word from anyone in authority for months. Many of us in the Crimson Guard resigned ourselves to live out our lives in cover. After all, we had money, power, and influence – not a bad severance package. Some of us got married and started families. We even sought each other out and formed our own regional fraternities."

"You and Gaschot! That's how you _conveniently_ found his stash; you knew where to look."

"Very good. Oui, we were friends."

"So the same phone call he got 6 months ago was the same call you and the others on the list got. You were being reactivated."

"Correct."

"But _your_ name didn't show up on the database query."

"I told you there were exceptions, high-ranking members of the military and intelligence is one of them."

"So I take it that, rather than reporting for duty, you guys gave notice."

"Oui, some of us were still upset from when we found out that CobraLa planned on infecting all of humanity with mutagenic spores. Our commanders did nothing to protect us; they were only worried about saving their own asses. So we refused to be sheep any longer. Of course Cobra would never let that stand. There are other cells that are willing to follow our lead, but only if we win here."

"So why involve GI JOE?"

"When my friend Marius died, I knew it wouldn't be long before they would come after me. I figured that a GI JOE presence would flush out Tomax and Xamot. If I managed to take them out, it would break the back of the Crimson Guard. Besides, you JOE's have always had a knack for foiling Cobra's plans."

"Is that why you came on to me so strong?"

"I'm afraid so. You are very beautiful mademoiselle, but I was more interested in you as a means of protection. That, and it would look suspicious if I uncovered all the clues by myself – I had to nudge you and RoadBlock in the right direction a few times."

"I can't believe I actually thought _you_ were cute. All of this was unnecessary Evrard; you didn't have to kill those kids just to get our attention. We would have helped you; protected you. We still can."

"I'm sure, but I would have to give up everything I've worked for. I've grown very fond of my power; I've even decided to take advantage of this little drama to remove that idiot Métier from office – giving me a clear line to the position. With my knowledge of Cobra operations, I could put together a task force even more effective than GI JOE. "

"In other words, you want to have your cake and eat it too. Spoken like a true Cobra."

"Don't be so naïve. We shouldn't be fighting; this is how the game is played. Why do think it's called 'Black Ops'?"

"That crap might fly with Delta Force, but I'm a GI JOE – and I 'm going to stop you."

"How are you going to do that with an empty gun? Do you think I would have given you a loaded weapon if I thought I might have to kill you later?"

CoverGirl was about to call him on his bluff, but upon re-examining the weight of her rifle, she could tell that the balance was off. Her heart sank with the realization that he did indeed give her an empty clip.

"You are a good soldier," he said, "but I know you've been trying to stall me. Unfortunately I can't wait any longer trying to convince you."

"Why did you bother to wait if you were going to kill me?"

"I have no desire to kill you. Not all of it was a game - I was hoping against hope that you would at least sympathize if I offered you the Crimson Guard on a platter."

In desperation, she spat in his face and started to run away. Evrard wiped the saliva from his face with his hand and licked it from his fingers. He took aim at CoverGirl's back as she ran.

"Goodbye beautiful one," he said. He closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger:

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

CoverGirl shrieked and instinctively fell to the ground in a defensive ball. She didn't even feel the bullets enter her body.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

She screamed again as the sounds of the bullets echoed in her ears. But something was wrong: she was still alive. She dared to look; she couldn't believe what she was seeing. RoadBlock was standing between her and Evrard. He was shielding her with his body.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

Tears rolled down her cheek as she cried out his name. She could hear the splatter of each bullet as it tore into her teammate. RoadBlock went down on one knee, but still defiantly faced Evrard.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

She cursed Evrard with a string of obscenities that overrode the din of the bullets. She fought against her rage and her panic to calm down and think. The precious time that RoadBlock bought her was about to run out. She knew that the gun Evrard was firing was in semi-auto mode: 15 armor-piercing bullets fired in 3-round bursts. She frantically started counting back the number of bursts in her head – was it 3 or 4?

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

She ran out as fast as she could from behind her human shield to engage Evrard. With a smirk, Evrard trained the pistol at CoverGirl's forehead and pulled the trigger.

CLICK!

Evrard's eye's widened as he realized he was empty. By the time he ejected the magazine, CoverGirl had already ran half the distance between them. She gripped her rifle in her hands, by the time Evrard reloaded and chambered, she was within 10 feet of him: this was going to be close. She explored all her options for her initial attack. One option was to throw her rifle at him as a diversion; she dismissed that idea. Although it had no ammo, the rifle would still serve her better as a bludgeon. For another option, she could meet the enemy head on with all her power; she dismissed this as well. Although a flying kick would be effective, it is too easily countered.

She didn't know what to do; she searched the recesses of her memory for something in her training that could help. Being one of the only 3 women above the grade of E-4, it was only natural to make comparisons between the female JOEs. She recalled that BeachHead once made the comment, 'Scarlett is the martial-artist, Lady-Jaye is the brawler, but CoverGirl _fights _like a girl.' She always understood it as a compliment - she had no qualms about fighting dirty if it meant she would win.

Taking this into consideration, she finally decided to turn her training off and let instinct take over, just as Evrard aimed his weapon:

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

CoverGirl tucked into a ball and used her momentum to roll forward. Evrard cursed when he missed – the shots fired high above her. When she passed his leg, she vaulted to her feet – they were now standing back to back. With a prayer on her lips, she twisted her body and swung blind with the butt of her rifle. Evrard too spun around to reacquire his target. His gun hand met the end of her rifle butt at terminal speed. CoverGirl allowed herself a sadistic smile when she felt the rifle butt break his fingers like twigs. Evrard screamed as his gun was knocked across the room.

CoverGirl drove her foot into Evrard's knee; she was disappointed that it didn't break, but at least it forced him to kneel. She raised her rifle high ready to smash it against his skull; however, Evrard anticipated the attack and speared CoverGirl's exposed solar-plexus with his fingertips. As he stood back up, he butted her with the back of his head. She staggered backwards. Evrard reached for her, but she rolled away to regroup. She felt dizzy; apparently she was still suffering from the concussion. She shook it off and swung her rifle furiously, being sure to stay on the side of his injured wrist and knee. She continued to punish his forearm as he raised it to protect his head.

In an unexpected move, Evrard transferred all of his weight to his injured knee and spun around to dig his heel into her hip. The sudden jolt caused her to drop her rifle. Evrard spun in the opposite direction with a haymaker aimed at CoverGirl's head. She ducked the punch and jabbed at the ribs on his exposed side, however, Evrard brought his elbow back to block the jab. She raised her leg to knee him in the chest, but he punch-blocked her knee and followed it up with a backfist. She spun around and landed on her back. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she blacked out.

When she came to, she saw Evrard was heading for his gun. She must have been out for only a couple of seconds. She got up to her feet, but fell back down as she lost her balance. She knew that if Evrard got to the gun it was all over. She fought against the blood rushing to her head and forced herself to stand. She ran as fast as she could at Evrard. The room was still spinning, so she kept her eyes focused on Evrard for a stationary point of reference. She jumped on his back - wrapping her arm around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Evrard screamed in a murderous cry as he forced his legs to stay upright against the sudden load of her added weight. CoverGirl used the distraction to assert her grip: she hooked her feet and squeezed his diaphragm between her thighs; she locked her hand around her forearm to complete the choke-hold and scratched at his eyes with her free hand.

Evrard flailed in a berserker rage, slamming her into the wall behind them, but she was dug in like a tick. He pulled her head back by the hair; she screamed as her hair strained at the roots. She forced her head forward against the hair-pull and bit his ear off. Evrard clawed for her eyes, but she moved her head out of the way and bit into his hand. When she tasted the salty mix of sweat and blood, she bit harder until tooth struck bone.

In one last desperate act, Evrard used the last of his strength to jump backwards into the air. He hoped to sandwich CoverGirl between himself and the floor, smashing her skull against the ground in the process. However, this is what CoverGirl was counting on: in mid-air she twisted her body and they both fell on their side. Her leg was crushed between Evrard and the floor, but it had the benefit driving her thigh deeper into his gut – what little air Evrard held onto was lost.

They were both winded, but CoverGirl had the luxury of breathing. She breathed hard to replenish her reserves as Evrard gasped for a wisp of sweet air - he was denied. His face turned red, his eyelids fluttered, and his breathing became shallow. When CoverGirl felt the pulse in his neck beat slow and hard against her bicep, she knew it was time to stop.

She relaxed her grip and kicked him off her leg. She briefly searched Evrard and started to crawl the rest of the way to secure the gun. It was then that she heard someone clapping:

"Bravo, my dear," Tomax said as he stepped out from the corridor. "You may have just singlehandedly saved the Crimson Guard from defeat. I am in your debt. Now, I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but you _are_ a loose string that needs to be cut."

He raised his weapon to CoverGirl; his finger tensed on the trigger. CoverGirl slowly raised her hands to revealed an object she held in her palm. Tomax recognized it immediately as a remote detonator. He lowered his weapon and looked around. CoverGirl pointed with her eyes for him to look up. He saw the stash of C-4 hidden in the shadows in the ceiling above him. It was then that Zarana entered.

"Tomax, the Froggies have broken our lines, we have to leave now!" She stopped and gasped when she saw CoverGirl holding the detonator. "She'll blow herself up along with us, she's bluffing!"

Tomax and CoverGirl's eyes met. They stared each other down intently.

"No she's not," he said.

"Whatever you're going to do, do it quick," Zarana said before leaving.

Tomax regarded CoverGirl one last time. He bowed his head to her.

"Well played milady," he then raised his weapon and aimed it at the unconscious Evrard.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

Tomax emptied his entire clip into Evrard's body, leaving behind a bloody clump of chopped meat and tattered clothes.

"Mission accomplished," he said before disappearing into the hatch.

CoverGirl let out a sigh of relief. Still dizzy, she crawled over to RoadBlock. When she saw how still he laid there, the tears started to flow again. She wept over her fallen teammate with her head on his chest:

_THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP_

She shot up when she heard the familiar sound. It wasn't possible. Those were armor piercing bullets – even if he was wearing type III body armor he should be dead. She removed his Crimson Guard Jacket and was relieved when she found no traces of blood. But how was he still alive?

"Sorry I took so long," RoadBlock whispered weakly, "I had to go back for the MAMBA's flak jacket."

Tears of sorrow now replaced by tears of joy, CoverGirl removed the body armor and loosened his clothing to allow him to breathe freely. She grew concerned when she saw his torso riddled with bruises. His body felt broken as she moved him into a more comfortable position.

"Dang girl, if you wanted to feel me up all you had to do was ask," he said with a weak smile.

"Shut up. You're going to be okay. You _have_ to be okay."

"I know," RoadBlock said, wiping the tears from her face.

"Does it hurt much?"

"Naw, its cool girl," he said, dropping his hand. "Just...don't make me laugh." He closed his eyes and passed out.

Suddenly, a team of paramilitary troopers stormed the room. It was the DGSE Action team, and they all had their guns trained on CoverGirl and RoadBlock. To her horror, CoverGirl remembered that they were still dressed in Cobra uniforms. She was careful to keep her movements very slow. She couldn't understand the orders they were shouting at her in French, so she responded with the one word she knew _they_ would understand:

"American!" she shouted.

The Action Team leader circled around with his weapon trained. He shone his light on RoadBlock, then on CoverGirl. He motioned to his teammates and they all lowered their weapons. He then said something to her that he knew _she_ would understand:

"YO JOE!"

End Chapter 5.


	6. Epilogue

GI JOE Season 3: episode 1

"The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey"

Epilogue

GI JOE Headquarters – 0745 hrs

CoverGirl walked briskly through the halls of GI JOE central command. It was her first day back under her new rank so she wanted to be early for her debriefing with Flint for a change. Once she entered the common area, she headed for the South corner elevator on the way to the command wing. She saw the doors closing on her.

"Hold the door please," she said.

The doors came to a stop then slowly opened. She entered the elevator as she finished buttoning her jacket. Her hair was a mess so she pinned it back into a pony tail. She failed to notice that Lady-Jaye was in the elevator with her.

"Floor?" Lady-Jaye said.

"Oh, Command please. Thank-you."

The doors closed and the elevator started with a familiar jolt as it lifted them to the upper levels.

"I bet that hair takes forever to dry," Lady Jaye said.

"Yes, it does."

"It looks good on you though."

"Thanks."

"Congratulations by the way."

"Thanks," CoverGirl said letting out a sigh.

"Are you tired of all the attention yet?"

"It's a little unsettling."

"Get used to it. It's the biggest thing that's happened around here in a long time. The scuttlebutt is that Hawk is very pleased with your mission. If anything just to get the opportunity to say 'I told you so' to all the bureaucrats back in Washington."

The elevator came to a stop at the command wing. The two women walked together on the way to the command offices. There was slightly more activity on the floor than the last time CoverGirl was here because General Hawk was on site.

"So how did it feel walking down that runway again?" Lady Jaye said with a sly smile.

CoverGirl let out a gasp and spun Lady Jaye around, "How did you know about that Alison!"

"Apparently DialTone made some friends at French Intelligence. There are pictures floating around with you strutting your stuff down the runway, and of your catfight with Zarana. I thought you knew."

"I am going to kill DialTone!"

"Don't worry, RoadBlock took care of it."

"What? How?"

"The scuttlebutt is when RoadBlock went to prep the kitchen last night; he found that some miscreants plastered poster-size photos of you from the fashion show all over the mess..."

"Alpine, ShipWreck, and FootLoose!"

"I didn't hear who did it, but apparently RoadBlock tore through the men's barracks banging an empty trashcan and said that if all the photos were not removed by morning's mess, that he would serve MREs for the rest of the year. There hasn't been a photo seen on base since."

Both women started laughing.

"Don't you just _love_ that big lug," Lady Jaye said.

"Yeah," CoverGirl mused, looking down at her feet.

The Women resumed their walk. Lady Jaye broke off and headed towards Hawk's office while CoverGirl continued on to Flint's. When she rounded the corner, she saw RoadBlock was already waiting outside Flint's door.

"Good Morning Marvs," she said with her usual smile.

"Good Morning Courtney," Roadblock replied.

"So where's the Top Shirt?"

"Don't let Flint hear you call him that, you know he's a CWO."

"Yeah, but the way they fudge rank in this outfit who can keep it all straight?"

"Well he's been in there with the Lieutenant ever since I got here."

"You mean Lt. _Jerk-off_ the head Blacksuit?"

"Yes, I mean Lt. _Jenkins_...They're having some words in there."

"Is it about us?"

"I would think so."

They stood outside for a few minutes. RoadBlock paced back and forth as CoverGirl tried to listen in on the conversation. RoadBlock couldn't stand the suspense any longer, so he decided to change the subject.

"So, how are you adjusting to life back in the States?" RoadBlock said.

"Just fine, France is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. How about you?"

"Not as much fun the second time around; then again I didn't have to deal with Siegies the first time."

CoverGirl looked at the ground, tracing the outline of the tile with her foot.

"RoadBlock, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said with a shy countenance.

"What is it?" RoadBlock said with a raised eyebrow.

Just then an intern rushed by them hurriedly. Startled by the interruption, CoverGirl laughed nervously.

"Are you okay?" RoadBlock asked, confused by her change in demeanor.

"Yea, of course," She smiled and changed back to the care-free manner that he was used to. "I was wondering how you knew that Evrard was a Siegie?"

RoadBlock eyed her suspiciously, "are you sure that's what you wanted to ask me?"

"Yea," she said biting her lower lip. "Its not that I'm ungrateful mind you..."

"Say no more," he said.

He stood up straight, grasping his lapel, and began to recite his account of events. Having told it so many times before in the grunt's lounge to his friends, he had the story down perfect. Although he exaggerated the tale a little more each time he told it – After all, he was proud of what they accomplished.

"For me it always came back to the gun. The gun started the whole chain of events that led to us uncovering the Crimson Guard insurrection. Now from an _evidentiary_ standpoint..."

"Since when do you start using words like 'evidentiary'?"

"Don't interrupt me woman!"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, as I was saying, evidentiari...evidentarly...stop laughing woman..._evidentiarily_ speaking, it was too convenient. The odds that the killer would use a Cobra pistol, coupled with the fact that there happened to be GI JOE agents on the scene to spot it, are highly improbable. The obvious answer was that someone _wanted_ us to find that Cobra gun. It was a catalyst designed to start us on the trail."

"Your powers of deduction are staggering," CoverGirl said with a smirk.

"Thank you. So when you take that into consideration, you have to ask yourself, 'who knew that GI JOE was going to be onsite that night?'" He gave a dramatic pause before continuing, "As it turns out, only 4 people knew for a _fact _that we would be there: You, Myself, Métier, and Evrard. I knew _I_ wasn't a Siegie, and I was willing to go out on a limb and assume that _you_ weren't a Siegie either..."

"And I appreciate that."

"You're welcome."

"Wait a minute, that's why you swept the conference room for bugs. You suspected way back then didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

RoadBlock ignored her last question and continued, "So, as we fast-forward to the Cobra base, when DialTone told me that Métier was arrested for being the mole, I knew that Evrard had made his move."

"Hold on, that doesn't explain anything. Evrard covered his tracks perfectly. Even though he got greedy at the end, there wasn't a single piece of concrete evidence that pointed definitively to him. So how did you _know_?"

"My dear CoverGirl, someone wise once told me that in this profession, '...you hardly ever _know_ anything. All you can do is follow the evidence.'"

"Who said that crap?"

"That's not important, what is important is that we kept getting bogged down with details. If you look at Métier and Evrard, who best fits the profile for a Crimson Guardsman? On one end you have Métier: the desk-jockey-bureaucrat who has a tenuous career because he constantly makes waves. And on the other you have Evrard: the reserved military up-and-comer who stays under the radar and has a service record that is pristine to a fault."

CoverGirl folded her arms as she pondered on RoadBlock's logic, "Yea, that _actually_ makes sense."

"You don't have to act so surprised."

"No it's not that, its just...Never mind. Thank-you for saving my life RoadBlock."

"Hey, that's what partner's are for right?"

"Right, partners."

Just then Lt. Jenkins left Flint's office. He was a short stocky man in his late thirties wearing a black ACU. When he saw RoadBlock and CoverGirl he glared at them before walking away in a huff.

"Come in you two," Flint said from inside his office.

RoadBlock and CoverGirl entered the office and saluted at attention. RoadBlock immediately winced from the pain of raising his arm too fast. Flint motioned them stand at ease. They each took a seat in front of his desk.

"How are the ribs," Flint said to RoadBlock.

"On the mend, Doc says I'll be at 100 percent in no time."

"Be sure to take it easy until then, I'm going to need you at 100 percent – all of you."

Flint brought out a stack of papers on his inbox and arranged them in a pile on his desk.

"Let's get started," he said. "First of all, I have to account for this stack of invoices red-flagged for my review from Lt. Jenkins' team. I won't bore you with all of the details, but I do have a few that are questionable. For starters, what is this invoice for a 10-course meal at Jacques Bistro about?"

RoadBlock noticed that CoverGirl settled uncomfortably in her chair. He knew Flint better than she did, and could tell when he was employing his dry sense of humor in order to have a little fun at the expense of his subordinates.

"Oh that, that was a business lunch," RoadBlock said while winking at CoverGirl. "You should be able to write that off: We were discussing special anti-terrorist surveillance-tactics-weapons-training...stuff."

"I see," Flint said, he then grabbed the next page from the stack, "How about this one: damages for a totaled '_poojit_'? What in the hell is a 'poojit'?"

"I asked her the same thing sir," RoadBlock said. "I _told_ her she should have rented an American car..."

"First of all sir, it's pronounced: 'Peugeot'," said CoverGirl. "And secondly, I paid for the damage waiver, so it shouldn't count-"

"...And racing through the streets of downtown Paris with total disregard for public safety?" Flint said, reading off the next page in the stack.

"C'mon sir, CoverGirl couldn't help that the brakes were cut. She wasn't even the one _driving_ down that hill."

"RoadBlock, I think he means the one where I was driving backwards while you were shooting into traffic," CoverGirl said, sinking even further into her chair.

"Oh...Well then yeah, that one was our bad. Sorry," RoadBlock said.

"Alright, don't let it happen again," Flint said, trying to hide a grin. He stacked the remaining papers together in a pile and threw them in the trash, "Consider yourselves reprimanded, Per Lt. Jenkins' orders."

"That guy never lets up. I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss the green-shirts," RoadBlock said.

"Think of it this way: with Jenkins and his crew around, maybe that'll keep your heads from getting too big from all the attention you've been getting," Flint replied.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The rest of the debriefing with Flint was by the numbers. After RoadBlock and CoverGirl left, Flint spent the rest of the day processing paperwork. When the evening finally came around, he was so busy preparing for his morning meeting with General Hawk that he didn't notice Lady Jaye come in.

"Hello Top," she said with a mischievous expression.

"Why do you persist in calling me that?"

"Because I know it annoys you, and I am the only person on this base who can get away with annoying you."

"You're lucky that you're cute."

"Are you almost done here?"

"Yea, I take it that Hawk is finished with you?"

"Yep, but that was _hours_ ago, so hurry up. You promised to take me to dinner off-base tonight."

"Oh, was that tonight?"

"Fairborne!" she exclaimed, with her arms crossed.

"I'm just kidding," he said, winking at her. "I'll meet you in the grunt's lounge."

Lady Jaye left the office. Flint finished the last of his administrative duties and left a few minutes after. He closed the door, but almost forgot to lock it – again. Even after over a year of being the GI JOE team leader, it still didn't _feel _like his office. He made his way down the hall with a report gripped tightly in his hands. When he rounded the corner to the elevator, he passed Hawk's office. The light was still on, Hawk was working late as usual – the man was a machine. Flint had something on his mind all evening, so he decided to knock on Hawk's door.

"Come in."

Flint entered the office. He saw Hawk behind his desk with his head buried in a stack of allocation approval requests.

"General, I was going to put my report in your mailbox, but since you're still here, I wondered if I can leave it with you directly."

"Sure, put it on my desk," He noticed that after Flint put the report on his Inbox that he hesitated to leave. "Is there something else?"

"Permission to speak freely sir."

"Always," Hawk said, looking up at him over the rim of his spectacles.

"Regarding the mission in France, with RoadBlock and CoverGirl as the most recent example, I wanted to know what your secret is."

"Secret?"

"There's no denying the results, but assigning a gunner and a grease-monkey for that mission is not a direction I would've taken."

"I see," Hawk took off his reading glasses, got up from his desk and walked over to his liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink and offered some to Flint. "Have you ever heard the term 'Mise en place'?"

"No sir."

"Its French, more specifically it's a cooking term. It means 'put in place'. If you've ever seen RoadBlock cook, he puts all his ingredients, cookware and other prep items at the ready before following a recipe that he's memorized."

"I don't follow sir," Flint said, rubbing his scalp under his beret.

Hawk took a sip of his drink and sat on the sofa across from his desk, "Take CoverGirl for instance: when she first started, she was delegated the task of bringing our Wolverines up to code. She pulled out the manufacturer's handbook and finished the job on time. However, she happened to notice that the same contractor also provided similar parts for our tanks, so she did a similar upgrade to those as well. The following month when orders came down to patch the tanks; Steeler didn't have a thing to do."

"I admit that a tech manual isn't an easy read, but I still don't see what this has to do with an intelligence OP?"

"It doesn't; that's the point. If I had chosen intelligence officers, they would have approached the problem from an intelligence angle. When this mission came across my desk, I knew I had a good old-fashioned _mystery_ on my hands."

"So there was no solution from a political standpoint?"

"Right. So I chose my point men accordingly. Where you saw a 'gunner', I saw a soldier who lays all his assets out, then proceeds to put them together in a logical fashion until he reaches a conclusion. In other words, he follows an algorithm. Likewise, where you saw a 'grease-monkey', I saw a soldier who can take the dynamics of a situation and extrapolate the means to apply it in solving another. In other words, she uses pattern-recognition. Those two were a perfect fit for solving a problem."

"I think I get it now."

"Good. You're in a position now where you're going to be making more and more critical command decisions; sometimes you have to think outside of the box. When you send your men out in the field remember that there is more to a soldier than what's in his service record."

"Hooah."

"Okay. Lesson's over," Hawk finished his drink. He walked back and handed Flint a fax that was on his desk. "It's funny that you mentioned the Paris Mission, I just got off the phone with a Dr. Emile Métier. As a courtesy, he shared the results of their interrogations of the Cobras that were captured in France. That pass-phrase you have in your hand consistently came up in their investigations."

"This says 'ANACONDA PRIME'," Flint said, reading the fax. "I gather this is an activation code?"

"More than that, it appears to be an _Umbra-_activation code."

Flint eyed Hawk warily, "So we're not just talking about _regional_ Siegie activity are we? How many sleepers have been activated?"

"_All_ of them."

The End?


End file.
